Blood
by Roony
Summary: The Winchesters run into a man that's being stalked by a vampire. But what starts as a 'simple dusting' gets increasingly complicated and dangerous as the night goes on. The brothers are taught a dark lesson about the battle between siblings for control
1. Chapter 1

BLOOD

author: Roony

rating: T

disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural. Damn, I wish I did though. Props to the WB for putting on some kick-ass programming on for once.

summary: The Winchester Brothers run into a man (quite literally) that's being stalked by a vampire. Help is found from an 'old friend' of Dean and John. But when a case of mistaken identity ends up with the Winchesters' wanted by a vampire gang, a cat-and-mouse game unfolds in a hospital.

Author's Note: FINALLY! I have been working on this story since December, and, after going through 3 beta readers, my story is FINALLY ready to be posted. Thnkas to Oldrach's Dream, Goddess Gaia 07, and cornbread (Serena) for putting up with me and my mistakes!

And now, for your entertainment:

* * *

Chapter One: Intro/Run In

Chicago, IL. 9:35 pm.

A drizzling rain had just started to fall, making the grimy, dim alley even more dismal. The only light to illuminate the gloomy place came from a single bulb above a gray steel door at the very end of the ally. Suddenly, the door opened and a small explosion of music and strobe lights erupted into the alley. A figure followed, a little slumped over, as though he were drunk. His right hand was clapped down tightly on his neck. He staggered into the alley and tried to run, but he only managed to sort of lope along, like he was forcing himself to move.

The dim light revealed that he was a young man in his early twenties. He had very short brown hair and his blue eyes were opened very wide with fear and shock. He continued down the alley, but clumsily, too frightened to even focus on running for his life.

* * *

The Winchester brothers were once again driving along in the black Impala. Sam had fallen asleep in the passenger's seat, and Dean found himself getting drowsy. It wasn't that surprising; this had been an especially bad week. The brothers had just spent it dealing with a demon that had checked itself into in the world-famous Drake Hotel of Chicago. Calling the demon 'a handful' would have been a fantastic understatement. It had enjoyed such pastimes as shattering windows and mirrors with the intent of cutting people to ribbons, searing the cables of full elevators, setting items in the gift shop on fire, and strangling people with curtains. Fortunately, the brothers had managed to exercise it. Unfortunately, it took a good four tries before they were successful. 

In celebration of finally achieving victory, the guys had decided to take a rest. They got a bite to eat and had hoped that the manager of the Drake, who had witnessed half of the third exorcism attempt before being chased from the room by a levitating teddy bear that had been engulfed in fire, would discreetly give them a free room for the night.

They had been sorely optimistic. The new manager told them that the former manager had entered intense psychotherapy for obvious reasons, just before she snappishly called for security to kick them out.

With only few dollars on hand, the brothers had set out on a quest to find the cheapest hotel in the city. Thus far, they hadn't had any luck, and it hadn't helped that they'd gotten lost in the shopping district for about half an hour.

So, there Dean sat, his eyes seeing bars, strip clubs, and pawn shops, but not a single place to stay for the night-at least not if he was intending to sleep.

* * *

The man was only halfway down the alley, but already he was loosing strength, feeling woozy. He was convinced that soon he would fall over. He stopped and leaned against a dumpster to catch his breath. His hand was still clamped on his neck, like it had been glued there. 

Behind him, the door opened again. The music and lights jumped out and were accompanied by another figure, this time one that was bulky and dark. The man shot a terrified glance back at the figure, then broke into a run, his hand still at his neck. The dizziness was still there, but his newly released adrenaline helped him focus.

The figure in the doorway gave a rough, barking laugh that echoed off the alley's brick walls.

"You can't run from _me_, Scotty!"

Scott desperately tried to think otherwise as he ran for the opening of the alley up ahead.

* * *

Dean's eyelids continued obscuring his vision. He started falling forward on the steering wheel… 

He pinched himself awake, shaking his head as he righted himself.

_ Awake, awake…gotta stay awake_

"That was a bit too close…" Dean observed pensively, scolding himself.

While the prospect of falling asleep at the wheel with his little brother sleeping right next to him had woken him up a bit, Dean knew that it wouldn't last. He thought about just pulling over, locking the doors, and going to sleep. But when you spend your free time with poltergeists and skin-steeling demons, you tend to get a little picky about where you spend your nights. As Dean had said, you sure as hell should be scared of the dark.

The option of waking Sammy up to take over was completely out of the question.Though comforted to see his brother sleeping peacefully for once, it was not thatDean didn't _want_ to wake him up. It was more because there was no way in hell Dean was going to let Sam drive his baby whenshe'd had her headlight busted only months ago by that same person.

Now it was starting to rain. _Perfect._

But Dean settled on driving just a little bit longer. If he didn't find a place in ten minutes, he'd pull over, put a ring of salt around the car, and hope for the best. He thought he'd turn on the radio to help keep the fatigue at bay. Maybe roll down the windows too.

He took his eyes off the empty road for only a minute.

* * *

The figure was chasing after Scott at a horribly fast pace, but Scott didn't dare turn back. He had taken his hand away from his neck and blood was flowing freely from the wound he'd been covering. Because he was running, some of it was flying off and spattering on the gray concrete ground. 

Scott's navy sneaker went first, then a drop of blood splattered onto the ground, only to get trampled by a heavy black boot a few moments later.

The figure could've caught Scott by now, but he was being teased, played with, and he knew it. But he refused to give up. He kept running even though his life force was being literally drained from his body with every passing second.

Finally, he made it out of the alley. He was out in the open. By now Scott couldn't focus on any strategy of hiding or zigzagging or any other option that the free space provided him with. His brain had become sluggish, so his instincts were all he had. They were screaming at him, louder than the sound of his heart pounding and his frantic breathing: "Run, Scott, run."

So he did. He ran into the street and paused for only a moment to catch his breath.

Suddenly, the darkness surrounding him was broken by light, strong light that was getting brighter and brighter. Scott was too out of it to understand where the light could be coming from. He looked up and his expression became one of horror and surprise when he saw the pair of blinding headlights speeding towards him.

* * *

The guitar chords of Keith Richards and the vocals of Mick Jagger now filled the Impala. The volume wasn't too high, but Dean thought it would be enough to keep his eyes open. But his mind wasn't focused; he was distracted by the song. It was older Stones stuff, the guitar far lighter than it was on songs like 'Start Me Up' or 'Bitch', which were two of Dean's favorite songs. The tune was pretty familiar. Yeah, and he knew the words… 'Please allow me to introduce myself. I'm a man of wealth and taste…' 

But all thoughts of the song, or anything else for that matter, stopped dead as he became aware of the no longer empty road. He was taking in the sight of a pale man who had blood covering his right shoulder, a man with whom he was most certainly going to collide. His foot slammed on the brakes, but he was just a second too late.

There was a sickening clunk when machine met man. The front of the car hit Scott, and with a thud his body was thrown onto the hood of the car.


	2. Chapter 2

BLOOD

author: Roony

rating: T

disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural. Damn, I wish I did though. Props to the WB for putting on some kick-ass programming on for once.

summary: The Winchester Brothers run into a man (quite literally) that's being stalked by a vampire. Help is found from an 'old friend' of Dean and John. But when a case of mistaken identity ends up with the Winchesters' wanted by a vampire gang, a cat-and-mouse game unfolds in a hospital.

a/n: hey guys. 2nd chapt up already, yeah. I've actually got 6 whole chapts all set up, but why make you read em all at once, right? Reviews are super duper appreciated if you feel so obliged to share em, but, if not, just keep reading. Maybe put me on your fav list (hint hint) okay, enough begging.

* * *

Chapter Two: Hit and Run

Dean was paralyzed, his hands gripping the wheel as the body rolled mere inches from the windshield. The initial impact had jolted Sam awake. He went instantaneously from looking around groggily to rigid and alert. He realized what had happened when he saw the body roll off the Impala's hood.

"What the hell!" Sam yelled.

The car screeched to a halt too late to avoid the collision, but early enough so that the man wasn't run over.

Dean's moment of immobility had passed; he leapt out and ran to the man sprawled on the pavement.

_Oh god, Oh god…_ Had he killed him? What if he had? What if he hadn't?

Sam got out of the car as well and stood there, gaping at his brother, who in turn was gaping at the body lying in the bright lights of the Impala.

"Oh, shit…" he said, his voice quiet, but tight and high with panic, "Dean, what happened?"

Dean couldn't quite understand what his brother was saying. Everything was a distant buzz. He was barely aware that Sam had even exited the car. The rain falling lightly on his face went by unnoticed. For the moment, all that filled the universe, all that existed to him, was the still body on the ground.

Were it not for the circumstances, Sam would've realized that he was witnessing a rare treat: his brother was, for lack of a better phrase, freaking out. The 'ain't-I-such-a-cool-stud' exterior of Dean Winchester had fallen apart. And the reason why was painfully simple: he didn't have any idea how to handle the situation. This was not a ghost that he could fend off with a simple ring of salt. This was not a matter that he had learned to take care of in his hunting experiences or could get some tips on from his father's journal. It was unfortunately one of those seemingly rare times when something went horribly wrong in a tiny percentage of the universe known as 'the real world'.

This was not a case of graves and hell, but a conventional and complicated one of flesh and bone. A human had run out in front of a speeding vehicle driven by another human who had, sadly, been Dean. And while Dean was skilled hunter, one with a great knowledge on how to make some of the scariest shit on the planet vanish in three seconds flat, this was not something that he could ever make go away.

Dean knew this, and it terrified him.

He knelt down by the body. Swallowing his panic, he reached out to feel the man's pulse. He nearly drowned in the wave of relief that washed over him when his fingers felt the definite _thumpthump thumpthump._

Okay, not dead. That was good. Very good.

Dean breathed in relief and lifted his head to tell Sammy the very good news.

But before he could, a dark figure pounced out of the alley and on top of him, the only warning being a noise that sounded like a combination of a man's yell and an animal's roar. Dean was tackled from behind, hitting the damp pavement hard. He winced slightly at the sting of his chin being scraped open, but there were more important things on his mind. All he could comprehend was that someone was on top of him and bashing him into the pavement, apparently intent on crushing his skull. He went with his natural reaction: fight to get the person the fuck off of him.

Sam was already on it. The figure beating on his brother was a man in a long, heavy coat-at least, that's what it _looked_ like. For all Sam knew, it could be a demon or just some meth-head. He turned around and opened the car, grabbing a salt-packet filled rifle from the back. Whether the figure was an otherworldly being or not, the salt pellets would still hurt like hell. Hopefully, they'd be enough to drive the attacker away from Dean.

Dean's face was a mess of blood from his chin, mouth, and nose. He was still on his stomach, unaware of who was beating him. He did know that he was being beat by a guy in a coat, and the guy was moving fast; _too_ fast. Dean felt a wave of humiliation wash over him for two reasons: he knew he was getting the shit beat out of him and he also did not like having it beaten out of him in this particular position. The embarrassment quickly became anger and, deciding that enough was enough, he jerked his head back in a sudden motion, taking the pain that came when he rammed it into his opponent's face. The attacker let out a shout of surprise and pain, and Dean managed to reach around and find his throat. Getting the assailant's head essentially in the crook of his arm, Dean tightened the hold enough to make him stop.

Or so he had hoped. He knew he was cutting off the attacker's air supply, yet the attacker didn't cease in his hits to Dean's body or the speed of his movements. One minute Dean was pulling him down, the next the guy whipped around and got in front of him, shoving him onto the ground again.

Now on his back, Dean got the chance to see his attacker. But when he did get a good look, things made even less sense. Though the upper half of the man's face was covered by his long hair, Dean could tell that he was younger than him. And he wasn't nearly as hefty as Dean was, his frame being smaller. So how was he able to keep Dean on the ground when the laws of physics-not that Dean knew them all that well-told him that he should be stronger?

Plus, oh yeah: his eyes were _glowing_.

"Get off!" Dean managed to yell as he tried in vain to push the guy away.

This was met with a hard punch across the face and a snarl; yes, a _snarl_.

"You stupid fuck, you hit him!" a rough but youthful voice yelled in a slightly hysterical tone, "I'll rip your throat out!"

That was when Dean saw them. He didn't think that they had been there before, but in the rumble and tumble, no one would have been able to tell. But regardless, two fangs, mostly ivory white but with some flecks of blood still around them, were now bared at him.

Sam didn't see the fangs or the glowing green eyes, but he took aim and fired nonetheless. He got the attacker in the back, the pellet making a distinctive thump on impact before ricocheting off onto the pavement. Immediately, the man's head shot up as he gave an unnatural hiss of rage. Sam was taken aback by the monstrous face of luminescent eyes and long, sharp fangs. The distraction allowed Dean to return the punch, and the attacker finally fell off of him. Dean quickly got back on his feet as his opponent gave a feral growl. Sam fired twice more, this time at the attacker's chest. With a grunt of pain, the attacker backed further away from Dean, but purposefully in the other direction: towards the car and Sam

Sam didn't even give him the chance. He fired and hit the assailant directly in the face. The target gave a yowl of pain and, using his unnatural speed, retreated into the shadows before either brother truly realized that he was gone.

Dean wiped the blood from his face onto the back of his hand, and from there onto his jeans. He grimaced at how dark the blood was, but made no complaint.

Sam, meanwhile, tossed the rifle back into the car as he asked, "You okay?"

"Peachy," Dean retorted.

"What was that?" Sam asked, walking back over to him.

"Later," Dean said briskly as he looked back down at the injured man, "Here, help me get this guy in the car. We're taking him to the hospital."

Sam looked as relieved as Dean had felt. "You mean he's not…?"

Dean checked for the reassurance of the man's chest rising and falling before replying, "Nope, he's fine. Well, breathing anyway. Which is good, 'cause otherwise we'd have to dump the body in the river." Sam paused and gave his brother an odd look. Dean rolled his eyes as he knelt down by the man's body again. "Just trying to add a little comic relief to the situation, Sammy. Lighten up. Now come on, we have to get him in the car."

Sam followed his brother's lead, but hesitantly. "You sure it's okay to move him?"

"We might not have time to kick back and wait for an ambulance," Dean replied solemnly. His thoughts were centering on the blood he'd seen illuminated by the headlights instants before the crash.

He was down by the man's midsection as Sam positioned himself at the head. Dean started to carefully lift his end and Sam followed suit. But before he started to lift up the man, Sam felt something warm, wet, and sticky. He looked down and felt sick as the blood on his hand glistened black in the headlights.

"Oh my god," he said quietly, his voice tight with terror again, "Dean…"

The way his brother said his name was enough to make Dean stop and focus all of his attention on Sam. Sam held up his bloody hand, staring at it as though he'd never seen blood before. "What did you do?" he demanded in quiet horror, "_What did you do_?"

"Wasn't me," Dean explained calmly, hoping that his softer tone would help Sam calm down, "He was bleeding before I hit him. Now come on, we have to get him in the back."

Sam obeyed, but was silent as the two of them carefully and slowly lifted the body and moved him into the car.

Getting the shit beat out of him had certainly dislodged Dean from his own little panic attack. Now he was in the zone, working quickly and correctly as he did what he could for the injured man. Being an experienced and trained hunter, Dean knew a thing or two about treating injuries. It helped to know what to do when, say, a poltergeist stabbed you. Medical knowledge was essential to a hunter's survival, a concept that Dean had apparently grasped.

First, he propped the man up against the door so that blood would drain away from the wound. Then Dean grabbed the hem of the man's T-shirt and started ripping away at it, making rags.

"Sorry about your Sabbath shirt, buddy," Dean said apologetically as he continued to destroy the shirt, having a genuine respect for the band as well.

With one rag, he wiped away what blood he could, but there was too much to successfully reveal the exact location of the injury. Then, when he could make a rough estimate of where the injury was, he tied another rag over the area, overlapping it. Then he grabbed a sock and a roll of duct tape from the trunk. He put the sock over the injury, then duct-taped everything together.

Meanwhile, Sam checked the man's pulse and breathing. Both were picking up. The man's lips were turning blue, and his skin was pale. The man, Sam knew, was going into shock, no doubt from the massive blood loss. Trying to remember what his father had taught him about emergency first aid, Sam went into the still opened trunk and took out a blanket. The man had to be kept warm, especially after lying in the rain. Dean was bandaging the wound, and didn't seem to be paying much attention to anything else while Sam wrapped the blanket around man.

It was when Dean saw Sam started taking off his belt that he finally spoke up.

"What're you doing?" he asked, a little befuddled.

Instead of answering, Sam directed, "Keep pressure one the wound for ten minutes."

"I know that," Dean shot back, irritated. He knew damn well how to treat injuries better than Sam did. Whatever paper cuts Sam may have suffered while grinding his nose in Stanford were nothing compared to the injuries Dean had sustained while out fighting evil monsters. He would have said so himself, but they didn't have time. "But what are you doing?"

"We have to keep him from moving around," Sam replied, "I'm gonna tie him down."

Dean nodded, though he was still a little irked. While he kept one hand on the bandaging, fully intending to keep pressure on it for ten minutes on the dot, he removed his own belt and tossed it to Sam. Using the two belts and the seatbelts, Sam secured the man.

Finally, when the man was set for transport,the brothers sped off for the hospital.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Know Your Enemy 

They didn't speak right away; Dean was focused on the road and Sam had withdrawn into his own thoughts. The man in the backseat might be dying. He had been bleeding too much. Maybe he wasn't bleeding from the wound alone, but also internally from getting hit by the car. Sam felt ill as he looked down and saw his hands and clothes stained with fresh blood. Any form of fatigue had been erased from his system, yet all he wanted to do was crawl into the sweet oblivion of sleep until all of this was over. The man was also unconscious; for all they knew, he was in a coma.

The man's well being was not the only reason Sam was anticipating the total extent of any injury; the police were going to charge them with a crime. The ER wasn't going to take someone who'd been run over and not notify the proper authorities. They were going to be arrested, sent to jail.

Well, no, that wasn't quite true, the youngest Winchester realized darkly, _he_ hadn't been driving the car. Sam gave his brother a sideways glance. Dean was focused on his driving, completely awake and alert.

Dean had said that the man was bleeding before he'd gotten hit. But deep down, in the pit of Sam's stomach, surrounded by a thin membrane of guilt, there was doubt. Dean had hit the guy after all. For the sake of self-preservation, it was a natural reaction to conceal at least part of the damage.

"All right, look," Dean said out of nowhere, his tone brisk and business-like, "We'd better talk now, cause I don't know how much privacy we'll get once we get to St. Mary's."

_Here it comes_, Sam thought as he chewed on the side of his lip. Get the story straight. Let Dean do all the talking and follow his lead. If questioned, answer to the same effect but not the same words.

But instead of giving instructions on how to cover up the situation, Dean said in that same matter-of-fact voice, "The dude that jumped on me? He had fangs."

"Oh. Yeah, I saw," Sam replied, coming out of his thoughts, "Saw his eyes too." He could still see them blaring out at him from the dark: a pair of glowing green eyes.

"Yeah," Dean went on, "And with the hickey on our friend back there, doesn't take much to figure out what we're dealing with." Sam agreed, but at the same time he didn't. He knew what Dean was thinking, but he hesitated to go along with him. Dean snapped his fingers a few times impatiently. "Come on, Sammy, I thought they taught you how to think quick in college."

"We don't know for sure that it's a vampire," he stated evenly.

His brother looked at him dubiously. "The hell we don't!" he snapped. He often reacted this way when Sam didn't agree with him on something that, to him, was obvious. "Fangs, glowing eyes, bleeding neck, those freaky animal sounds, the speed and muscle power-"

"Muscle power?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean shot him a look. A silent argument passed between the brothers. The topic: Was Dean so vain as to think that just because a guy beat his ass, the opponent must therefore have some sort of demonic strength?

"You shot that guy four times before he decided to get his ass out of there. He kept coming. That's not something just anyone can do," Dean stated, before adding harshly, "And I know from personal experience."

Sam winced as if Dean had slapped him. The Dr. Ellicot thing again. Sam knew that Dean would never let that one go, and he didn't blame him. He just wished that his brother wouldn't use it just to win arguments. It was a hit below the belt. Though, what Dean said was true; just one shot had sent him flying through a wall.

"Look," Sam explained, his tone calmer, "I just want to be sure. I mean, plenty of demons can have those qualities. We need something more concrete."

Dean shrugged. "So we play 'Buffy' and ram a stake through the guy's heart. If that doesn't work we come up with a plan B."

"No," Sam said firmly. Dean gave him a wide-eyed angry look, like he couldn't believe that Sam would keep arguing like this. Dean always came up with the plans. He was not used to being told otherwise. "I'm sick of plan B. I want to know what we're hunting, so we can stop it as soon as we find it."

Dean started, "What's wrong with-"

But Sam cut him off, his voice now very angry, "Because the last time we did trial and error, people got hurt, all right? Some people almost died! I don't want that to happen again, you got it?" Then his voice got very quiet as he looked away. "I want us to be right so that no one dies."

At the Drake Hotel, only one person had died from the demon's attacks, and that had happened before the Winchesters had gotten there. But while they had been running around trying out exorcisms, many people had come close to joining him. The only way that Dean knew the way to St. Mary's at all was because of all the times the brothers had gone there in the past week.

"Okay then," Dean said. His voice was quiet too, but underneath it there was anger. "How are we supposed to help people, Sam, if we're just sitting around, huh? How _else_ are we going to figure out what we're dealing with if we don't go out and look for it?"

Sam didn't answer as he pressed his hand to his temple. They couldn't keep doing this, not tonight. Both brothers were anxious, stressed, and tired. Plus, they still had the police to look forward to.

* * *

Behind the Impala, a black DeSoto cruised along. The headlights of the car were intentionally turned off, despite the darkness and the rain. Behind the wheel was a young man with long auburn hair. His face and hair were messed up and wet. On his left cheek was a large, egg-shaped bruise colored blue and purple. He was wearing a heavy black coat and fingerless gloves. His clawed hands were gripping the steering wheel.

Dean was correct; the attacker was indeed a vampire.

His eyes were now blue, appearing like a normal human's. Nevertheless, they burned with unholy fury as they watched the Impala and the two figures in its front seats. His face was contorted with rage.

* * *

"Well let's just say, hypothetically, we _are_ dealing with a vampire," Dean said grudgingly, irritated that he had to speak hypothetically about something that he knew to be true.

"But-" Sam started, but now Dean cut him off.

"But let's just play make believe, okay, Sammy? 'Cause I'm pretty sure we'll give people the wrong impression if we start babbling about what does or does not make a vampire while we're sitting in the waiting room." Sam paused, then concededly nodded. "All right," he went on, "Basically, anyone who's seen a Dracula flick could pull this off."

"Stakes, crosses, sunlight." Sam agreed.

"Oh, I got something better than stakes," Dean said, getting more relaxed. Now he was comfortable. Just talk hunting. That was his zone. Sam raised a puzzled eyebrow at him. Dean gave a grin. "I'll show you later. Don't wanna ruin the surprise."

Sam gave a short laugh. Dean could always flip emotions like a coin if it involved some new toy.

But before the car lapsed into the foreboding uncomfortable silence, Sam said it. It had to be said, and before they got to the hospital. "So, what do we say?" he asked simply, his voice tired.

Dean looked at him, not seeming to understand. "About…?"

"To the cops," Sam took a breath, "What are we going to do? The man's in a coma."

Dean gave him a doubtful look. "He's not in a coma," he scoffed.

"Well, he could be. Or go into one."

"Oh, so now it's 'could be'," Dean jeered, "How do you know he's in a coma?"

"How do you know he's not?" Sam asked pointedly.

"I bet you five bucks he's not in a coma," Dean said confidently.

Sam looked at him incredulously. "I'm not betting!"

"'Cause you know you'll lose."

Sam shook his head. "I am not betting on whether or not this guy is in a coma."

"Pussy."

"Bitch."

Dean turned to Sam straight on. "Okay, then put your money where your mouth is, college boy."

Sam hesitated, chewing on his lip. What the hell were they doing? They had just run over a guy, gotten into a fight with a supposed vampire, performed some fantastically quick emergency aid, and now they were betting on whether the man bleeding to death in the back of their car was in a coma? What the hell was wrong with them? If he wasn't so pissed at Dean, he would've laughed. Or signed them both up for therapy, but given the way their lives were going, the latter was inevitable anyway.

"Fine," he said, just wanting to end the discussion.

"All right, look," Dean said briskly after they'd quickly shook on the bet, "Back to your original question…" He shrugged. "We tell them the truth. I hit the guy." Sam looked at Dean, surprised at the responsibility he was taking on. That is, until Dean continued, "…After he was chased into the road by another guy. Hopefully they'll be more concerned about that and the fact that our man in the back had his throat ripped open. And we tell them about him jumping me. I mean, we obviously skip the part about him having fangs, but if we don't tell the cops that we fought, they'll think I got beat up while I was fighting this guy. Then they'll think I'm the one who got him in the neck, and that'll make things even worse."

Well, Sam thought, that was a good point. Given their track record with the police, it was best not to take any chances. If they ended up in jail, the vampire or demon or whatever it was could run rampant around Chicago.

The rain was coming down harder now. It pelted the windows. _Taptaptap_. It was a loud enough racket to wake the dead.


	4. Chapter 4

hey guys! Thanks for the reviews! Good news for you 'young Winchester' fans-we've got a flashback in this chapter! Hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Four: Hurt 

St. Mary's General Hospital, Chicago IL

10:00 pm.

Dean gave great credit to both himself and his baby when they made it to the emergency room in ten minutes flat. When they pulled up in front of the ER doors, Sam burst out of the car and ran into the hospital to get help. A doctor, three paramedics, and a gurney had hurried out to the car, where Dean had unbound the man in the back. The injured man was rushed inside immediately. Dean had taken the car around to park it and Sam had followed the frantic parade.

The brothers didn't have to wait long before they were talking to a police officer. The thing about emergency rooms is that you can always count on two or more police officers hanging around. So, while the injured man was rushed into the crisis room, the brothers stood in the hall while two cops questioned them. One was a white man with dusty blonde hair in his mid thirties and the other was a younger Latino man, who was undoubtedly a rookie.

As Dean had hoped, the police were far more interested in the injury to the man's neck and the man that had attacked Dean. Since they'd driven the man to the hospital, the brothers had earned enough credit for the cops not to press them too hard about the accident. They did ask for a description of the man who'd beaten on Dean, which the brother provided-minus the fangs, speed, and talent for making animal-like noises.

"So once he started attackingyour brother, what did you do?" the older cop, Officer Clark, asked Sam.

Sam hesitated. What was he supposed to say? He'd shot the guy with rock salt? "Uh…"

But Dean never missed a beat. "He didn't do anything."

Officer Clark turned his attention to Dean, eyebrow raised. "Your own brother didn't help you out?"

"Didn't have time to," Dean replied as he clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I gave the guy a run for his money and he couldn't pay up. High-tailed it outta there."

The officer's eyes ran over the bruise on Dean's jaw, his cut chin, the swelled bottom lip, and the dried blood around his nose. "Uh huh. So he just ran off?" The brothers nodded. "Right," the officer said, "Well, I have to tell you, if anyone was to hit the man, he's damn lucky it was you. Only has a minor concussion, a broken arm, and a few broken ribs…"

"Is he in a coma?" Dean asked suddenly.

The officer's brow furrowed. "No…"

Dean turned to Sam with a smug look. "You owe me five bucks," he stated matter-of-factly as he held out his palm expectantly.

Sam shot him a 'shut up' glare. Oh yeah, this was _really_ going to improve their image with the cops.

Officer Clark raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. He continued, "His most serious injury was the one to his neck, which you say happened before you hit him, right?"

Dean nodded, letting the bet go-for the time being. The officer seemed satisfied. Sam didn't show it, but he was rather surprised how easily they were getting off. In the past, the police had only been slightly friendlier than the demons, if that. He speculated that this, along with the keen interest in the man that had beat up Dean, meant that there had been similar attacks going on recently.

"Well, boys, you did a good job, bringing him here and taking care of him like that. Get some rest." Officer Clark gave a meaningful look to Dean. "Looks like you could use it."

The Winchesters offered farewells as the officer and the rookie parted.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Sam turned on Dean. " 'A run for his money'? 'He couldn't pay up'?" he quoted incredulously, "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

Dean's brow furrowed. "How bad could it be?"

Just then, the crisis room doors opened and two nurses in lilac scrubs moved a gurney with the injured man on it. He had a blood transfusion hooked up to him, but his color was still a sickly pale. The brothers watched silently as he passed.

The doctor, a tall black woman in her early forties, clad in the white coat and stethoscope, followed as she took off the bloodstained latex gloves and tossed them into a wastebasket with an orange Biohazard sticker on it. Her name was Dr. Leslie Bridge. Her hair was pulled back rather severely for her kind face. When she looked up and saw the two, she smiled pleasantly.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Bridge," she said, "You must be…" But then she got a better look at Dean and her calm demeanor faltered. "Um…I think I should take a look at that," she said concernedly, referring to the cut on his chin.

As she led them into an exam room, Dean said out of the corner of his mouth, "That bad, huh?"

"'Fraid so," Sam replied.

Dean sat on a chair in absolute agony.

'Just a little sting'. Yeah, right. Damn it, it was just a little cut. He did _not_ need stitches. It hadn't even hurt until she'd put the cleaner on it. But compared to the Novocain shot, that had been sunshine and lollipops.

"…so it looks to me like that other man stabbed him with an ice pick," Dr. Bridge was saying.

With two puncture marks found on the victim's neck, Sam therefore had been forced to finally give in and agree with Dean. They were hunting a vampire.

"I have to tell you, the way you took care of him was impressive. Did a fine job for a couple of amateur paramedics."

Dean would've thanked her, if he could talk. But if he did, his lip might've ended up sewn to his chin. Ouch. It was a rather odd feeling, having your skin sewn together. But Dean was used to it. He had plenty of battle scars and was glad that for once he didn't have to make up a story, because he'd almost run out of them. That was one of the reasons he wasn't very fond of hospitals; too many memories of coming in with painful injuries. With a glance over at his brother, Dean could tell that Sam was having the same uncomfortable feeling.

Sam was leaning against the wall, hands folded over his chest, his gaze distant. Well, well, wasn't this a familiar little scene: in a hospital watching his brother get fixed up. Sometimes it was the other way around, sometimes it was both of them, and sometimes it was just John. Nights that should have been spent doing homework or going to the movies, or doing anything else normal, were spent instead at the hospital. Stitches and casts were almost natural attachments by the time Sam was seven. Sam blamed his father for all of that. What kind of bastard drags his kids into fights like that?

Sam shook his head. There was no point in thinking like that. John wasn't here to yell at anyway, and even if he was, Sam wondered if he even would. All of that was in the past. He hated that it had happened, but it had, and there wasn't really anything he could do about it.

Looking back, Sam was rather shocked that he and his brother went so long without a talk with social services. He remembered the very first time it had happened. He had been seven and had been attacked by some night-crawler type monster whose name he couldn't even pronounce. His back had been burned; his Teenage-Mutant-Ninja-Turtles pj's had almost fused with his skin. The pain had been excruciating, no matter how much the kind nurses had tried to sooth him. Now that he thought about it, he could pinpoint which nurse it had been who'd sounded the subtle alarm. She had been rather young and nice, but very cold to their father.

The nurse somehow managed to distract Dad, probably telling him he needed to sign some form over at the desk or something like that, and Sam remembered being in the room with Dean all by themselves.

_Sam was sitting on the bed, bandages wrapped around his bare torso, wearing these funny hospital pants and weird slippers. He was watching Dean, who was trying to figure out a Rubik's cube with little success; Dean had never been very good with puzzles. Sam was about to ask if he could try when the door opened and both of the boys looked up, expecting to see their father. _

_But instead, it was the nice nurse and another lady. The lady had olive skin and black curly hair. She was wearing a brown skirt and a red shirt. There was some ID card on a lanyard around her neck. Sam thought she looked nice, but there was something about her that he instinctively did not like._

_She smiled at him and it was a nice smile, but there was something about it that made him feel sick._

"_Hi," she said kindly._

"_Hi," Sam had replied._

_Dean hadn't said anything. He was looking at the lady too, apparently having the same bad feelings that Sam was._

_She walked into the room a little more. "I'm Teresa."_

"_I'm Sam," he'd responded automatically._

_Teresa turned her attention over to Dean. "Hi. Are you Dean?" The older boy replied with a silent nod. Teresa's smile faltered ever so slightly, but she recovered and turned back to Sam. "That looks like it hurt," she said sympathetically._

_Sam looked down at the weird, soft slippers. "Not that much," he said, putting on the brave front._

"_How'd it happen?" she asked casually._

_But Dean caught on quickly. Young as he was, he wasn't stupid. "Where's our dad?" he demanded._

_Teresa gave him a tight smile. "He's signing some papers, honey."_

"_Can we go to him?" Sam asked, following his older brother's lead._

_Teresa kept trying to smile, but she wasn't doing a very good job. "Not yet, Sam. I want to talk to you first."_

"_About what?" Sam asked cautiously. He didn't like this. He wanted to leave. _

"_About how you got hurt," Teresa explained._

"_He got too close to the stove," Dean cut in. The boys had been told to never ever tell anyone how they really got hurt. Back then, their father's word had been law. Then again, for Dean, it still was._

_Teresa looked to Sam, who was looking away. Sam knew he was going to have to lie, but he didn't want to. Not entirely because he liked Teresa, but also because he wasn't very good at it. Dean had gotten lying down first and better._

"_Sam, is that true?" Sam only nodded, not looking at her. Teresa frowned, putting a firm hand on his shoulder. Sam at that moment became a little conflicted. Growing up without a mom in a house of macho guys, he wasn't very used to comforting touch. "Sam, you have to tell me the truth, honey," Teresa pressed kindly, "Please, honey, tell me the truth. Tell me who really hurt you."_

"_No one hurt him," Dean said firmly, "It was the stove."_

_Sam didn't reply. He didn't know what to do, and the frustration and conflict was making him want to cry._

_Fortunately, he was saved any more interrogation when the door opened abruptly, John Winchester standing in the doorway, his face both furious and terrified. _

"_Who the hell are you?" he'd demanded. He hadn't yelled. His voice was actually quite calm; expectant._

_The woman had turned to face him, folding her arms across her chest._

"_I am Teresa Lancione with Child Protective Services," she replied. Her tone was no longer soft and understanding, but confrontational._

"_Child Protective Services?" John repeated the name as though he didn't quite understand. He looked at Sam and Dean, then back to Teresa Lancione. His voice became surprisingly pleading; a tone that Sam and Dean had never heard their father speak in before. "Could we speak outside, please?"_

After that, Dad and Teresa Lancione had gone out into the hall, closing the door behind them. Though Dean and Sam had pressed their ears to the crack under the door to listen, John had wisely led Teresa Lancione out of earshot.

Somehow, the boys did go home with their father that night. The next day, the first aid training had started. They couldn't keep going to the hospital; Child Protective Services had started a record.

At that moment, Sam realized that Dr. Bridge had been speaking. He pulled himself out of the shit-hole of old memories and tried to focus on the problems he and Dean were facing now.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Hello again, my readers! Just wanted to send a great big THANK YOU to my reviewers and the people who've added this fic to their fav list. Coming out fast wit these now, but chapt. 6 will be up in a couple days, and chapt 7, I'm hoping by the end of the week. Cross your fingers for me!

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Chapter Five: Information

"I'm sorry?" Sam asked, having not caught what Dr. Bridge had just said.

"Oh, I was just saying that normally, we recommend that you call an ambulance in these types of situations," Dr. Bridge repeated, "Trained medical personnel know how to transport a person with spinal injuries or internal bleeding, which can easily occur in an accident like this. The layman doesn't know how to treat those injuries, and if they try to, they can even make it worse. This was a very lucky case." She turned to him and smiled sheepishly. "There, I've made my speech. But if you want my honest opinion, I think you two saved that young man's life. Those neck injuries penetrated his carotid artery; if you hadn't found him or if you had waited, he would have died."

Sam and Dean were appreciative of the compliment, but Dean was getting anxious. They had to use this opportunity to get information. If they needed a lead on where their vampire hung out, an ER doctor who worked the night shift was an excellent start. He hoped that Sam would quit looking all broody and get down to business.

Reading his brother's 'get on with it' expression, Sam asked "Have you had anything like that in here before?"

"Car accidents? Well, never one this miraculously fortunate."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. There wasn't much of a chance that she'd misunderstood the question. She was covering.

"His name's Scott Meeson by the way," Dr. Bridge went on as she continued to carefully stitch up Dean, "We found his college ID on him. He's twenty-four." She turned back to Dean. "Almost done, I promise."

"So, he'll be okay?" Sam asked concernedly.

Dr. Bridge nodded. "He should be. The blood loss was major, but we got him in time. You must've done some impressive driving to get him here." Dean wished that he could smile. He gave Sam a very proud look.

"Done," Dr. Bridge announced.

"Ah, finally," Dean breathed appreciatively.

"And I was looking forward to a few more minutes of quiet," Sam remarked, feigning a wistful look.

"Ha, ha," Dean replied sarcastically as he picked up a mirror from the nearby table and examined his reflection. His face still showed plenty of damage from the scuffle on the street, marred with blood and grime. Though. his chin looked all right because had been cleaned for the stitches. But the bruises looked pretty ugly. "I look like I've been through hell," he stated solemnly. But then he grinned. "And I'm still the prettiest man on the planet!"

Sam smirked, but then it faded as a thought occurred to him. He turned concernedly to Dr. Bridge, who was putting away her tools. "Uh…how much is this going to cost?" he asked, worry etched over his face. They'd already given their real names; the stolen insurance and credit card scam wouldn't work this time. How were they going to pay? They had a very basic budget: food, gas, hotel room. An emergency room hospital bill would leave them scavenging for food in dumpsters while they slept in the out-of-commission Impala.

Dr. Bridge winked. "On the house this time, I think," she said conspiratorially.

Sam breathed in relief. Damn, he wished he was in Canada. Free health care would certainly come in handy in their line of work. Then again, it wasn't the best place to be during werewolf season. Sam nearly slapped himself after that particular thought. His flame of hatred of how he'd been raised flared up again. Why couldn't he just think of Canada as America Jr., like any normal person?

"So you two are…?" Dr. Bridge looked over at the two of them with polite inquiry.

"Brothers," Dean finished as he checked his hair in the mirror.

The initial look on Dr. Bridge's face was rather comical, but she instantly recovered, masking most of what looked like total surprise. "Oh. Brothers…right, of course."

Dean wanted to know just what exactly they could have been otherwise. But then he recalled him 'prettiest man' comment and decided, as he quickly put the back mirror down, that ignorance was a wonderful bliss in this case. "So, I guess working the night shift, you see some pretty weird stuff come in," he said casually, trying to ease back into the conversation Sam had tried to start earlier.

"Oh, yes. Some of them are tragic, others a little amusing. And some, well, they can be just downright disturbing."

Dean and Sam's eyes met. They were making some progress.

"Disturbing how?" Sam asked, trying to sound casual.

Dr. Bridge opened her mouth to reply, but then she raised an eyebrow, looking from Dean to Sam. "Why are you two so interested?"

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Though they spoke no words, there was definitely a conversation going on. 'Say something!' '_You_ say something!' 'Like what?' 'Anything!'

Luckily, the two were saved from any real fumble when the door opened. In walked a young woman with red hair pulled back, wearing black pants with matching sweater and a blue shirt. She looked quite pleased with herself. Sam glanced to his brother and did not miss the quick raise and lower of the eyebrows. He could see Dean mentally calculating the quickest possible way to get the woman's clothes off. That was really the only kind of math Dean was any good at, Sam realized with a snicker.

But, alas, her gaze went right past both Dean and Sam and settled on Dr. Bridge, who looked rather perturbed to see her.

"Dr. Bridge?" the woman asked expectantly as she quickly walked over. Dean caught a whiff of her perfume as she walked past.

"Mmm…honeysuckle," he said jokingly under his breath to Sam.

Sam returned the comment with a quick punch on the shoulder. "Focus…." Dean could be 'play boy' later. The hunt came first.

Dean took notice of just how nicely the woman's ass fit into her pants. "I'm more focused now than I've all night, I promise."

The conversation between the two Winchesters was, fortunately for them, not overheard by either of the two ladies. The young woman approached eagerly, looking rather aggressively friendly, whereas Dr. Bridge looked very cold and unwelcoming.

"Doctor, I'm Nikki Wales with the Chicago Sun," the woman introduced, holding out her hand.

Dr. Bridge did not take it. "I know who you are. How did you get back here?" Her angry face and accusatory tone made her look like a mother whose son had come home from the prom with a hooker.

Nikki Wales' cheerful façade immediately disappeared, replaced with one of smugness. "I've been hospitalized for exhaustion," she explained, putting on a frail air. "My editor's idea, I can assure you."

"I'm sure you can," Dr. Bridge replied coldly.

Nikki continued, ignoring the comment. "It's probably from going out at night for these past few weeks. Though those incidents at the Drake Hotel did distract my paper for a while, we've returned to a far more important story."

"You're not in it for the charity, Miss Wales. You're in this for the glory," Dr. Bridge stated bluntly.

"Dr. Bridge, does it really matter? We all want the same thing," Nikki said, trying to be persuasive in a more business-like manner. "I want the exclusive cover of the arrest and trial of an insane killer. You want to make space in your morgue. We help catch him and everyone wins."

_Sounds like our guy_, Dean thought at the mention of 'insane killer'. Dean and Sam had made a silent decision to just hang back and listen. It seemed best, especially given the catfight that seemed about to ensue.

Dr. Bridge looked appalled by Nikki Wales' assessment of the situation. "Get out, Miss Wales. Before I call security."

Nikki responded by giving the doctor a cheeky look, but still she turned on her heel and marched out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

"What was that all about?" Dean asked, turning to Dr. Bridge, who was pinching the bridge of her nose.

The older woman looked like she was trying to hold back a hurricane of fury. She sighed heavily and crossed her arms over her chest. "Nikki Wales….is a disgusting human being." Her face looked apologetic, but her tone wasn't. "And she seems to have gotten even more so since…" She paused, looking at the brothers suspiciously.

"Since what, Dr. Bridge?" Sam asked, trying to be polite.

"Never mind," she replied, trying to wave the matter aside, "It's not important." She took a deep breath, apparently still angered by Nikki Wales's presence. She regained some of her normally calm and friendly composure and turned to Dean. "Well, you'll need to get your stitches removed in two weeks. But if you want, you can leave for tonight."

"Actually…" Sam started.

"Thank you," Dean said sincerely, cutting Sam off. They weren't going to get anything out of her, not now anyway. They'd have to try later, when she wasn't distracted by her anger at Nikki Wales. He gave a winning smile as he left, Sam following.

But before Sam left, he turned and asked Dr. Bridge, "What room is Scott Meeson staying in?" He gave a sheepish grin. "We'd kind of like to apologize…"

"Three-oh-four," Dr. Bridge replied with an understanding smile. She had calmed down considerably, but Sam could still sense the rage bubbling beneath the surface. "But I don't think you'll have to do much apologizing. He'll probably be thanking you."

Out in the hall, Sam shrugged his shoulders at Dean. "Okay, now what?"

Dean held out an open palm. "First, money."

Sam begrudgingly dug into his pocket and fished out a ratty five dollar bill. He held it out to his brother, who snatched it up complacently. Dean never forgot a bet, _especially_ if Sam owed it.

"Okay, Moneybags, now what do you think we should do?" Sam asked, glad to break Dean out of his haughty reverie.

Dean paused. "I'm thinking what we need is someone who knows what's going on around here. I'm thinking we need someone who knows the city and has contacts." Sam rolled his eyes. He saw where this was going. "I think what we need is to go find that Nikki Wales chick." Dean grinned as he added, "And, if you want to stay here instead, Sam, I completely understand. In fact, if it's necessary, I'll go talk to her myself."

Sam nodded, letting Dean kid around, but wanting to get serious. "You actually believe she can help us out?"

"Well, in all honesty, Sammy, I do." Dean replied as they started walking down the hall. "Think about it: she knows about previous attacks, knows the city. We make her a deal: she gives us information and we give her every single detail of hunting down our guy."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Who _is_ a _vampire_."

"Yup."

"Who doesn't show up on film."

"Yup."

"And will turn into dust when we kill him."

"Uh huh."

"And will therefore leave no evidence behind for Nikki Wales, leaving her with a crazy story about a vampire running around downtown Chicago."

"Bingo."

Sam smirked. "Dean, you're a genius."

Dean smirked back. "And I didn't even need to go to college."

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

a/n: FINALLY! 10,000+ words! w00t!

Thanks to all my reviewers, by super-de-duper beta readers, andpeople that put this on their favs list!

I really hope you guys are enjoying this fic, cause I am really enjoying writing it!

* * *

Chapter Six: Control 

All plans would have to wait. Coffee came first, second, and third. Sam had hoped that instead they could've just gotten some sleep. But no, Dean was set on continuing forward.

"You wanted research, we're doing research," he'd growled, "So just shut up and quit whining." Sam didn't respond to his brother's poor attitude. Dean was tired; hell, they both were. Plus, the damn coffee vender only took exact change.

The cafeteria of St. Mary's had roughly sixty tables, two pop machines, a candy vending machine, and, of course, a coffee vender. There was a small deli-type restaurant too, but it closed around eight.

Also because of it being late, the cafeteria was completely empty, for which the brothers were grateful, because it gave them plenty of privacy to chat. Sam had set up the laptop and was clicking away. Dean was just sitting back, enjoying the warm liquid, and trying to clear his head.

Damn, what a night it'd been. And it was only going to get longer. Dean half-wished that the damn vampire would just pop out and attack them right now, just so this could all be over with.

Sam was having the same thoughts as well. The week at the Drake had been draining. He decided that after this little escapade, a vacation was in order. He knew that Dean 'self proclaimed "Macho Man"' Winchester would have an issue about taking a break, but that was too damn bad. Sam knew that you could only push yourself so far before you fell off the edge. Maybe if he suggested going down to Miami for the break, Dean would be a little more apt to consider it, especially with Spring Break coming up…

But all day (or night) dreams of kicking back in Miami were immediately erased when the page Sam had clicked on finally loaded up. Sam snapped to attention, his eyes fixated on the text on the screen.

Dean meanwhile had started thinking about how to handle things. "So, I'm thinking we should try Dr. Bridge one last time. She's covering, but we're wearing her down. She's seen stuff, I'm sure of it." Sam didn't respond, still reading his laptop's screen. "And this dude, Scott, we have to talk to him." Dean added grimly as he chewed his lip, "If he ever wakes up." He looked over at Sam, waiting for his brother's view on all this. But Sam didn't seem to be paying much attention. "And then, I'll chat with Nikki Wales…" Still, not the slightest sign of listening. "In a leather bikini. With bigger breasts. Washing a car."

Sam didn't look up, but did reply: "Dean, I think your breasts are fine the way they are, and either way, I don't think Nikki Wales would want you showing them off in a leather bikini, and definitely not while washing your car."

"Ha ha," Dean replied, slightly crestfallen, "You let me say that out loud, you bastard?"

Sam finally looked up at his brother, and he couldn't hold back the grin any longer. And soon Dean followed suit, even adding a little chuckle. The imagery was just too damn perfect

"So what're you drooling over?" Dean asked, tilting his coffee cup towards the laptop.

"Got some articles here from the Chicago Sun," Sam replied, turning the laptop so that Dean could see what was on the screen. Sam had pulled up a number of files with various headlines. "There have been six attacks in the past two months, not including Scott Meeson. All died from blood loss, all from injuries to their necks. And only one reporter has been covering them for the Sun."

" 'Violent murder in Downtown Chicago', 'Second Mysterious Violent Murder in Chicago'," Dean said, reading off the headlines. They were all written by Nikki Wales. He raised an eyebrow. "Not one for catchy headlines, is she?"

"She gets better with the actual article," Sam said, but he didn't sound like he was complimenting the reporter. He sounded rather spiteful. "Nikki Wales has been writing a series on the killings. She gets good details. Too good. I found a photo here of one of the victims, Vince Sparra."

"What's wrong with that?"

Sam swallowed and set his jaw. That was all Dean needed to see to know that Sam was really pissed. Sam stated the information evenly and slowly. "None of the victims have survived the attacks. Nikki Wales published Vince Sparra's corpse. In the morgue."

There was a pause when the words hovered in the air, echoing in the stark silence of the vast, almost empty room. Well, this certainly explained why Dr. Bridge had been unwilling to give them much information.

"What does the picture show?" Dean asked, finally bringing some noise back.

"Well, It was taken from a distance," Sam said, turning back to the screen. His face was resolved, but angry. "I've zoomed in on it, but the angle's wrong; the injury is on the other side of his neck."

"What does she say about the killings?"

"Well, she's not recommending people to walk around with cloves of garlic and wooden stakes, if that's what you mean. Like everyone else, she says it's just some psycho. In fact, the topic of vampires never comes up." He added as an after thought, "Not really that big of a surprise, I guess. Anyway, the only thing she actually agrees with the cops on is that the killer is a psycho, probably on met amphetamines."

Dean scoffed. "Met amphetamines," he jeered, "Right. Pretty neat little holes for a methhead."

Just then, Sam opened another window on the screen. He frowned. "Well, that's the other thing…" he said slowly as he read the article. Dean looked at him quizzically. Sam looked up, his face showing that the information he'd found had perplexed him slightly. "No holes."

Dean raised a questioning eyebrow. "What?"

"Their throats were all cut," Sam replied, "Cut in the exact same place though; carotid artery. Which means there was no mistake; someone definitely wanted these people dead." He pointed out, "So, if Dr. Bridge was describing Scott's injuries correctly, Scott's the only one that's been bitten."

Dean leaned forward, taking another sip of his coffee. "Okay… This vamp, he might've cut their throats to cover up any bite marks," he suggested. "Vamps don't like to get a lot of attention."

Sam sat back in his chair, putting a hand to his temple. "See, that's the thing that's been bugging me. Most vampires are subtle. They're careful. If they weren't, blood-drained bodies would pop up all the time." He didn't want to say it immediately, but he was starting to lean into what he'd said back in the car: maybe they weren't dealing with a vampire. These murders could've been performed by your garden-variety crazy person.

"Well, they rarely bite unwilling people," Dean pointed out.

Sam's brow furrowed. "Wait…they find people who're _willing_?"

Dean nodded. "When vamps aren't robbing from blood banks, they feed on these people who just…well," Dean forced a tight smile, "Let's just say they're not shy." Sam sat back in his chair, rather disturbed at the thought. "They're called 'givers' or 'pets'," Dean continued disgustedly, "Either way, kinda gives you an idea of how many regular nut-jobs are out there. Enough to keep almost every vampire fat and happy without having to worry about ditching a body some place." Dean thought for a minute while Sam absorbed this information with a nauseous stomach. "Hey, any chance the victims were givers?"

Sam turned his attention back to the articles. "No. One was a high-profile lawyer, another was a news reporter, another was a mother of three… These are all people who wouldn't have time or opportunity to get away to be fed on." He sighed. "They just all happened to be outside at night. They weren't even killed in the same area. The murders took place all over Chicago."

"Okay, that'll make it a little harder to find the leech," Dean said, shrugging.

"I don't get it though. Why didn't this vamp just feed on a giver or swipe a stash from the blood-banks? Why did he decide to go hunt and kill people? It's not smart."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Right… Vampire community's very tight-knit. They have very strict rules, especially about keeping things on the down-low. Don't follow the rules, well…" he grimaced, "they either isolate you or…you end up wishing they had. And this dude's already attracted way too much attention for his own good."

Sam raised his eyebrows. He hadn't known that about vampire communities. This new information added fuel to the theory forming in his mind. "And then there's the fact that he jumped you before. Most vampires would've taken off when we got out of the car. Too many witnesses, and he'd probably already gotten a snack out of Scott anyway. Why did he stick around?"

Dean shrugged a shoulder. "Well, maybe it's just me, but I think this dude has a self control problem," Dean replied, gingerly touching his bruised cheek. He grinned, "Or maybe he just likes me. Anyway, what's it matter? All we have to do is find Dracula and dust him."

Sam's eyes widened. He could almost see the light being cast upon his brow from the metaphorical lightbulb above his head. It was what Dean had said: 'maybe he just likes me.' "Dean, vampires have to feed every two weeks, right?"

"Yeah. So what?"

"Well, that's how often our guy was feeding. For two months, he only fed every two weeks. Until tonight. Scott is the seventh attack. He's early."

Dean sat back, relishing in the last of the warm coffee. "Sammy, what's up?" He didn't like it when Sam kept him in the dark, like he was too dim to be able to keep up with Sam's thought process. But he didn't outwardly show any contempt. No real reason to, he supposed. He and his brother had to work together for this hunt to be successful.

"I think that Scott's being targeted for a specific reason. I don't think he was bit out of bad luck."

Dean thought about it. "I'm not sure. I mean, like I said, this vamp has a self-control problem. He probably got hungry and Scott Meeson happened to be around."

Sam shook his head dismissively. "When I shot at him and he finally got off of you, he didn't run away. Not until I shot him in the face."

Dean nodded. "Right. I thought he was going for you."

Sam shook his head again. "That's what I thought too, but he wasn't even looking at me. He was looking at Scott."

Dean rubbed his chin-careful to avoid the stitches. "Okay…But why Scott?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. But I definitely think this vampire has it in for him."

Dean thought for a moment, then threw up his hands. "Well, Scott's not going anywhere. Not tonight, anyway."

"You think we should keep an eye on him?" Sam asked.

"Nah. He'll stay in here the rest of the night, and then he'll be fine during the day. He'll probably be a little more careful at night. Probably won't even leave his house for a week."

"But the vampire could get in if Scott invites him," Sam pointed out

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Sammy, if someone ripped your neck open, would you ever invite that person into your house?"

Sam knew that to be true and rather obvious at that. But that wasn't really the point he was trying to get across. What he wanted to say…he didn't want to say it out loud. Deep down, he was hoping that Dean would say it for him, or come up with a better idea. But he played it casual. "I'm just saying. If he's the one our vampire's after, we might want to watch out for him."

But Dean caught the underlying suggestion Sam was trying to make. He also caught that his little brother was nervous to say aloud. So, Dean said it for him. "We could use him as bait."

"We could," Sam replied neutrally. He didn't want to commit to it. He felt a little ill thinking about using another human being as bait. It seemed ethically wrong.

But Dean considered the idea from a more detached position; he'd learned to keep things at a healthy distance if you wanted to deal with them rationally. Using Scott for bait wouldn't really be that difficult anyway. And, if they played their cards right, it could actually be safer for Scott. Vampires, Dean knew, are rather easily deflected. Strong smells and loud music kept them at bay because they have heightened senses. Also, they needed an invitation to private places. So long as Scott didn't invite the vamp into his house, the vamp couldn't get in.

"Well, let's see how it goes," Dean said simply as he took aim and tossed his cup into the nearest trashcan. "We still need to know where to look for the sucker." He paused, thinking over his words for a minute. He gave a chuckle. " 'Sucker'. Ha, didn't even make that one on purpose!"

Sam smiled, but it was more for his brother's comfort than his own humor. He was nervous about this. If they did use Scott for bait, Scott's life would be in danger. But if they didn't watch Scott anyway, there was an even greater chance that Scott would end up dead. Plus, Sam still wondered why Scott was being targeted. He didn't think it was just the luck of (or lack there of) of the draw. There was something else going on here…

* * *

They settled on going up to Scott Meeson's room, seeing as how it was all they could really think of. Outside of room 304, Nikki Wales was talking on her cell phone. The brothers happened to come by just in time to here a one-sided argument.

"Yes, he's here. … No, I didn't-of course not! … No. … I don't-wait, no, I think I did. … Yeah, well, that's not my problem. … No it isn't! … Well, I can't get anything yet. … Because the police are still here, you idiot!"

It was the last sentence in particular that made Sam's ears perk up. It seemed Nikki Wales was planning another shady operation to get her story. Sam set his jaw in irritation. He moved toward her, passing Dean who arched an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

Nikki Wales didn't notice him approach, still yapping on her phone. "Look, I…" But then she looked to her right and saw Sam waiting expectantly. "I'll call you back. … Well deal with it!" And with that, she hung up. She turned to Sam, crossing her arms over her chest in a huff. "What?" she asked snappishly.

"Nikki Wales, right?" Sam asked tersely.

"Yes," she replied touchily. But then she paused as she looked at his face. "Wait, didn't I see you with Dr. Bridge earlier?" Her interest in his existence seemed to have peaked significantly.

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't. He wanted to yell at this woman, wanted to verbally rip her apart for what she had done and what she was doing. He didn't care if he cut her down a few inches or pissed her off. He just wanted to berate her, not caring how loud he was, not caring how many people would stare. But if he did, she wouldn't help them. If he did, any resources Nikki Wales had to offer would be gone.

So instead he swallowed his pride and his anger, smiled as friendly a smile as he could muster, and offered a hand. "Yeah. Sam Winchester."

Nikki Wales shook his hand, though somewhat miffed that he would offer his hand to her. "So, you ran over the man, right?" she asked bluntly.

"No, that'd be me," Dean said a little too eagerly, glad to have entered the conversation with Ms. Wales.

Ms. Wales raised a scrutinizing eyebrow. "Well, aren't you pleased with yourself."

If Dean weren't such a manly-man, Sam could've sworn he saw him blush. Dean's expression suggested that he'd just swallowed a fly.

"This is Dean, my brother," Sam introduced.

Dean, having regained some of his debonair charm, smiled, offering his hand, "Charmed, I'm sure."

"Right," Nikki Wales sneered bemusedly as they shook.

Dean gave Sam a look that said 'What a bitch.' Sam replied with a slight nod.

"So, you've been running the series on the brutal killings for the past two months, right?" Sam asked, trying to get down to business. He wanted to be around this woman as little as necessary.

"Yes, of course," she replied, straightening up a little with pride. "I've gotten every case."

"And you want to be there when this guy is caught, right?" Dean asked, following Sam's lead.

She looked at him dubiously. "Of course!" adding "But I'd prefer that he isn't caught."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Because you'll sell more papers if he kills more people." he stated evenly, inwardly disgusted by Ms. Wales's seemingly nonexistent ethics.

"Naturally," Nikki Wales replied simply.

"Well, we can help you be there when this guy's caught," Dean went on, trying to draw her attention away from the steaming Sam.

"Oh?" she asked skeptically, eyebrow raised.

"We're going to catch him."

Nikki Wale's laughed. And it wasn't out of pure mockery. She actually had a good jolly laugh. Dean and Sam looked at each other. This was most definitely not going as planned.

"Look, we can give you vital information. Stuff that not even the cops have," Sam tried. Dean looked somewhere between embarrassed and pissed. "You help us out, we give you a big advantage over competitors."

Nikki Wales seemed very amused by the proposition. "Right. And how, exactly, did you get this 'vital' information?"

"You let us worry about that. Just like we'll let you worry about how you got that charming photo of Vince Sparra three weeks ago," Sam replied, grimacing.

The near-tickled expression on Nikki Wales's face was gone instantaneously. She looked very insulted, like she'd swallowed something nasty. She glared up at Sam. Sam inwardly smirked at how this woman was trying to be intimidating, despite the fact that she was even shorter than Dean.

"You think you're so smart," she hissed, "You think you can try to blackmail me into giving you the spotlight for some bullshit bravado? Well think again." And with that, she turned on her heel and stormed off.

Sam turned back towards Dean. He was practically shaking from anger and his face was hot. Dean responded by sticking his hands in his pockets and shrugging in an almost comical showing of 'Oh well'.

"Yeah Dean, that was a great idea," Sam snapped.

"It was a good guess," Dean defended coolly.

Sam looked away, leaning against the wall. Yeah, it had been a good guess. A completely wrong guess, but a good one. But, he didn't want share that thought with Dean just yet. He knew that the incident had gone wrong through no fault of Dean's, but still…

"Hey, look, Sammy," Dean said, getting his brother's attention. He let out a heavy sigh and looked down at the floor. "I know you're pissed, all right? But it was good that you didn't let it out. You gotta try and keep that stuff in sometimes, and I know it ain't easy."

Sam was surprised, but kept his face blank. "Yeah. Thanks, Dean." He was actually a little taken aback by Dean initiating the 'chick flick' moment. It wasn't like him.

Dean apparently noticed as he gave a quick nod as he reached for the door to 304. "Okay, let's go before we start getting all 7th Heaven."

* * *

END CHAPTER

uh…whoa there, Rosemary. Fic's not over yet.


	7. Chapter 7

a/n: hey guys. FIY: The rating on this story is CHANGING to an M rating. I have some stuff coming up that I'm worried about, 'cause people are losing their stories because the admin thinks the rating is too low. I don't want my stuff taken. Much love to my readers out there!

* * *

Chapter Seven: Let's Not Fight

As it happened, the exact same people that they'd encountered on the first floor were all up in Scott's room now. Dr. Bridge was attempting to tend to her patient, asking nurses for test results, and checking monitors. Scott was doing better, it seemed, but he was still sporting a sickly pallor and unconscious. Officer Clark and the rookie, Officer Mendez, were there too. Apparently, Scott had just gotten in from the CAT scan. Right now he was hooked up to several different monitors and a blood transfusion. Dean and Sam hung back, not making their presence immediately known.

Both Dr. Bridge and the officers were trying to do their jobs. However, both parties were trying to do them at once, the cross over only adding to the confusion and frustration of everyone.

"Has he said anything since he's come in?" Mendez asked, pen and paper at the ready.

"No, he was unconscious upon arrival and, as you can see officers, still is," Dr. Bridge replied, her tone slightly flustered as she took a chart from a blonde nurse.

"Any evidence on him that we can use to nail this…sicko?" Clark asked, the last word obviously being substituted for a more colorful one. "Any bite marks? Skin under the fingernails?"

"Officers, as I assured you before, we have checked Scott Meeson under the proper procedure and the only thing that this 'sicko' left on him were the two holes in his neck," Dr. Bridge snapped irritably, turning to face the officers with a face similar to the one she'd given Nikki Wales earlier. "Now please, just let me take care of my patient! I will notify you when Mr. Meeson is conscious and able to make a statement."

Clark and Mendez exchanged sheepish looks as she turned back to the blonde nurse. "Has his family been notified yet?" Dr. Bridge asked.

The nurse replied apologetically, "We couldn't find a number to call."

Officer Clark raised an eyebrow. "No number? Did you contact the college campus? They might have something."

The nurse shook her head. "They didn't have anything either."

Dr. Bridge turned back to the policeman, arms crossed over her chest. "Officers, _please._"

"All right, Dr. Bridge," Officer Clark complied, "We'll be out in the hall."

Dr. Bridge offered a curt nod as they left. The two officers passed the Winchesters, glancing at them curiously. Officer Clark whispered something to Officer Mendez. Mendez nodded and remained as his partner continued out into the hall.

Mendez approached the brothers casually, obviously trying to keep quiet so as not to provoke Dr. Bridge's wrath.

"Hey, just a head's up," the rookie said to the brothers, "We'd appreciate it if you didn't talk to any reporters about this. Just us cops and the doctors, okay?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "Why?" Sam asked.

"Well…" Mendez started, but he was interrupted by a sudden commotion in the hallway. Dean rolled his eyes as the voice of Nikki Wales rose, soon accompanied by Officer Clark's. Ms. Wales and the officer were arguing quite vehemently. "That's why," Mendez explained simply, nodding towards the door, "The press. We've had some real cut-throat journalists come out of the woodwork lately."

Sam and Dean nodded. "We understand," Dean replied bluntly.

As the arguing got louder, Mendez started to look concerned. "Right, catch up with you guys later, okay?" Before the brothers could respond, Mendez had gone out in the hall to try and calm the situation.

"Okay, maybe Wales isn't quite my type after all," Dean said offhandedly.

"Gee, you think?" Sam remarked sarcastically.

"Hey man, shut…"

Sudden activity over by Scott Meeson caught both brothers' attention and made Dean stop talking. The heart monitor was beeping louder and Dr. Bridge was standing over her patient with concern.

"Scott?"

Then Sam saw it: Scott Meeson was moving. Had he woken up? Dr. Bridge was apparently trying to figure out the same thing.

"Scott, can you hear me?" She asked the question using a loud and clear voice.

Sam and Dean came over to the bed, but gave Dr. Bridge enough space to work. Scott was still unconscious, but he was moving. His arms were moving slightly, his fingers gripping the sheets. He was breathing fast and, according to the monitor, his heart was speeding up.

Those things and the look on Scott's face told Dean exactly what was going on. He'd seen such a look on Sam's face just two nights ago. Scott was having a nightmare, and Dean guessed by the look on his face and the way his fingers were gripping the sheets, a pretty bad one.

Scott actually spoke. "Don't…Julian…" His brow furrowed, adding anger to the fear. "_Don't_." The sentence was both a demand and a plea.

"Scott? Scott, if you can hear me, open your eyes," Dr. Bridge tried. But it was useless. Scott's face calmed as he ceased moving. His breathing and heartbeat returned to normal.

"Julian…" Sam repeated the name ponderingly.

Dr. Bridge turned to see the Winchesters, apparently just realizing that they were in the room. She looked tired and frustrated. "You two shouldn't be in here now," she said firmly. "You both need rest and to put on some clean clothes."

Sam looked down and realized that his shirt was stained with Scott's blood. He'd forgotten all about it. He swallowed his disgust. He had to deal with it, the way he had been taught. Hunters had to learn to deal with things a lot worse than blood.

"Dr. Bridge, we want to talk to you," Dean said briskly. It was time to get down to business. They had to pick up the pace if they were going to make some real headway against the vampire tonight.

The doctor held up her hands, cutting him off. She looked like she'd had enough. "No. I have a patient to look after and I can't do that with all of these distractions. Now please, leave and listen to my advice. Rest."

Of course, both Sam and Dean knew that they couldn't comply with at least half of her request. No rest for the wicked meant just as little rest for those who _fight_ the wicked. But they could leave. Scott Meeson was safe here. Meanwhile, their vampire was still on the loose, wreaking whatever havoc he wanted as long as the sun was down, and the night was still quite young.

So, the brothers partially gave in to the good doctor and left without another word.

"Okay, I say we just go," Dean said as he and Sam walked down the hallway, dodging doctors, nurses, patients, and families.

"Go where?" Sam asked pointedly as he made way for an older woman in a wheelchair, "I told you; the murders happened all over town. This guy's taken the entire city as his hunting ground."

"Easy, we go back to square one," Dean explained, as though this had been obvious the entire time, "Back to where he attacked Scott."

Sam paused, not really liking the way Dean had phrased the location. "You mean, where you hit Scott."

Dean stopped dead in the hall, looking at him with an almost confused look. "Uh, _yeah_, after he was chased into the road."

Sam shook his head in disgusted disbelief. "You really aren't going to take any responsibility for this at all are you?"

Dean turned to face him now, looking angry. But there was betrayal in his eyes. "You're really not going to shut up until I start pounding my chest with grief about it, are you?" he said, imitating Sam's tone.

Sam eyed the dark circles under Dean's eyes. He could tell what had happened. "Just admit you made a _slight_ mistake. That's all."

Dean pointed at Sam's chest with two fingers. "The guy was chased into the street, Sam!" This was not his fault, and he was sick of Sam acting like he first pushed Scott into the street before running him over.

"And you were almost asleep at the wheel!" Sam shot back, his voice raised a bit more than he would've liked.

Dean looked like his brother had slapped him. He stared, slightly taken aback because he was surprised Sammy was pushing the subject, but also because Sammy was dead right. He _had_ been falling asleep. Maybe if he hadn't, he would've seen Scott. Maybe. There were no guarantees. And, really, what was the point of worrying about what could've or couldn't have happened? It had, the guy was going to live, and that was that.

Sam continued, not really so angry anymore, but more just wanting to get his point across and be done with it. "Don't drive while sleep deprived, Dean! There, it rhymes. Maybe that'll help you remember."

Dean just shook his head and started walking, purposely stepping right in front of a passing gurney to add more distance between him and Sam. Damnit, why did Sammy have to push it all the time? Why did he always have to start shit?

Sam watched Dean go, but made no effort to catch up. He knew Dean needed his space right now. He almost wanted to kick himself for pressing him. _Almost_. Dean had hit a human being. He could have killed that human being. He had to realize that and take responsibility for it.

Then again, who was he to tell Dean what to do? He owed Dean a lot. The accident could have been worse, sure, but they'd already been told that they'd saved the man's life, right? This was a bad time to have a fight anyway. They had a hunt to focus on and execute.

Sam swallowed his pride and quickened his step to catch up with Dean. He managed to catch up just in time to make it to the elevator. Dean didn't acknowledge Sam as he stepped next to him, giving the cold shoulder treatment. The shiny metal doors of the elevator closed. Sam looked at their reflections and spoke rather to Dean's reflected image than his actual physical self.

"Look…"

Dean cut him off before he could even begin. "No chick flick moments." It was more of an order than a request.

"Fine." Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

There was a beat of silence, but Dean's icy exterior melted as he gave his trademark grin. "But that doesn't include begging for my forgiveness."

Now Sam turned to him. "You're an ass," he stated quite matter-of-factly.

Dean shrugged, like he really didn't care. "Fine. Then you can walk around the south side of Chicago in the middle of the night and look for our new friend." He used the more subtle term because of the young man with bleach-blonde hair leaning casually against the rear wall, chewing gum.

Sam slumped his shoulders. He really had to steal those keys someday. But he tried to stay on the important topic. "Okay, Scott lived. _This _time. What about the next time, Dean?"

Dean shook his head dismissively. "Like I'm gonna let you drive my baby? After you marred her perfect body? No way."

Sam raised an eyebrow at him. " 'Marred'?" he quoted dryly.

Dean fixed him with a slightly annoyed look. "Yeah. You think only college boys can own a dictionary?"

Sam shrugged. "Still. 'Marred'…" He smirked slightly. "You make it sound like I took your car's virginity or something."

Dean tried to cover up his own smile with a scowl. "That's it. You're not allowed in that car until you get on your knees and beg for forgiveness."

Now the bleached passenger decided to join in the conversation. "Ooo…kinky."

Both brothers turned to look back at the guy. He looked a lot like Ryan Seacrest, only without the spray-on tan. Their glares were so cold that the guy shut up immediately and went back to playing with his gum. When the doors finally opened, Bleach practically sprinted out of the elevator. Sam and Dean stared after him, still a tad disturbed by the short comment.

"Okay, why does everyone think we're a gay couple?" Dean asked, slightly dumbfounded.

"Well, you kind of started it," Sam pointed out, remembering their whole experience with the bugs. He was still on some level disturbed by being slapped on the ass by his brother.

"Yeah, but still… Maybe it's 'cause we look alike?" Dean wondered aloud.

Sam smirked. The brothers both knew very well that, through some genetic cause, they looked nothing alike. "Maybe."

* * *

It was still raining outside when they exited the hospital, and the brothers had to sprint to the parking garage, sadly still arriving soaked. Dean didn't seem to mind that much though, using the rain to clean up his face-careful to keep the stitches dry. He had had stitches enough times to remember all of the ways to care for them. Following his brother's lead, Sam had washed off most of the blood from his hands. The shirt was a different story though. It was probably ruined, but Sam hadn't really liked it much anyway.

Sam had thought the 100-yard dash in the rain was going to be the worst part about getting to the car. He was, unfortunately, wrong. Dean, in all of his Dean wisdom, had parked the car up on the 7th level of the garage to protect it from thieves.

It was when they were on the 4th that the cussing had started, but by the 6th both brothers were too tired to get into any intense arguing.

"I hate you," Sam breathed in exhaustion.

"Right back at ya," Dean replied, equally tired.

"And I hate your car."

"Hey," Dean said, a bit of energy returning to his system for the sake of his baby's defense, "She can't help it if she's pretty. And if you're gonna blame anybody, blame the Mercedes Benz on the sixth level."

"Why?" Sam asked, not understanding what a Mercedes Benz had anything to do with what level Dean parked his car on.

"I had to park my baby above that, because any car thieves would see the Benz first, and take it without even bothering to go up another level," Dean explained dubiously.

Sam just shook his head at his brother and tried to keep himself from just collapsing right here. Just focus on moving. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. He couldn't believe that after all this they still had to set out and hunt something down. That Miami Beach idea was looking pretty damn brilliant right now.

"Finally," Dean announced with relief at the sight of his baby on the seventh level.

They walked over to the car, really too tired and relieved to bother to say anything to each other.

Yet with the hunt about to begin, Sam thought he should make one point as he opened the trunk to get a new shirt. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean was switching shirts as well, wanting to get into some warm clothes. He was slightly disappointed that there weren't any lovely ladies around for him to show off his godly body to, but oh well; maybe next time.

"How're we gonna find our way back to where the accident happened?" He chose to use the neutral term 'the accident' to avoid another fight. "I mean, could you tell what street we were on?"

Dean froze, midway between putting his new shirt on. "Uh…" He hadn't really thought of that. "Well…" He put on a more reassuring face. "It's all in here, Sammy," he said, tapping his temple with a grin. "Like Mapquest. I'll find our way back."

Sam shrugged skeptically, but didn't push it. They really didn't have anything else to go on.

When both of them were dressed, Sam moved to close the trunk, but Dean blocked him. Sam looked at him questioningly, Dean just grinned in response.

"Here, I gotta show you these."

As Dean moved the duffel bags out of the way and started to open the hidden stash of weapons, Sam realized that he was about to see the new toys Dean had been talking about earlier.

Sure enough, Dean opened up the weaponry stash, dug carefully past a long knife and two wooden stakes before he revealed something that made him light up like a kid on Christmas. He pulled it-_them_, Sam realized as he saw more of the weapons-out with both care and eagerness. Dean proudly displayed two hair-trigger crossbows.

Sam raised his eyebrows. Hey, he was a guy too. And he had to say, the cross bows looked pretty sweet.

"Very nice," he said appreciatively as he took one that Dean handed him. It was light and sleek. "Where'd you get em?"

"I got my connections," Dean replied coolly.

Sam held the weapon, getting used to its feel.

"A bit safer than stakes, 'cause you can get the leech from a distance, instead of up close," Dean said, adding, "And way cooler too."

_No denying that_, Sam agreed silently.

"But, we've only got four bolts each," Dean stated as he took back the other crossbow and started setting them back in the stash, "So don't take any wild shots." He added, "But given the way you took out Dracula earlier, I don't have to tell you that."

Sam smiled inside at the pride he heard in his big brother's voice. He started to get in the car, but paused in mid-step as something caught his eye. It was a black car, a DeSoto.

Dean started to shut the trunk, ready to go, but then he caught sight of his brother.

"Uh, earth to Sammy?"

Sam turned back to him, but in a weird slow way that made Dean on edge. Something was wrong.

"I've got a bad feeling, Dean," Sam said, rather vaguely.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Like your Miss Cleo-type bad feeling or…?"

"More like a 'the car that was behind us on the way to the hospital is now parked over there' type feeling."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, their hunter instincts kicking in. Both knew that the car wasn't a coincidence; they'd been followed. And there was little question as to by whom. Sam's eyes silently looked to Dean and asked what to do. Dean wordlessly replied with a meaningful glance to the open trunk. The crossbows.

But they had to be subtle, act casual. If the brothers were being watched, they couldn't let whoever was doing it in on the fact that they knew. The element of surprise is always one you want to keep hold of.

So, Dean's left hand reached instead for the laptop next to the duffel bags. But Sam saw his right hand moving towards the secret compartment.

Dean was counting down under his breath, just loud enough for Sam to hear. "Five…Four…" Sam just moved his arms towards the trunk, as if he was preparing for Dean to hand him the laptop. "Three…Two…"

Sam could hear his heart pounding in his ears, but he muted it out. It was just the rush of the hunt, something he'd learned to ignore in order to get the job done. Now both of Dean's hands were on the door of the compartment. Sam took a step closer.

"One."

In a flash, the door was open, the crossbows were out, and the brothers were racing towards the DeSoto, their recreated medieval weapons ready to fire at anything that moved. But, as the brothers soon found, the car was empty. Dean lowered his weapon, looking somewhat disappointed.

Sam gave his brother a wry smile. "Oh-kay, well…good to know we're prepared…"

Dean gave a half-hearted smile in return, but he wasn't so quick to simply laugh this off. Something was wrong; his instincts told him so. He was totally convinced that their 'new friend' had been driving this car. And it was empty now, so… His eyes widened as he realized that this could mean only one thing.

He turned to his younger brother, his voice urgent. "Sam, we need to get back in the hospital, back to Scott. Right now."

Sam quickly followed Dean's line of reason and nodded, but he hesitated. "Uh, Dean, we can't barge in with these," he said, hefting his crossbow. He glanced around. Man, if they'd been caught just now, they would've been in big trouble. He spotted two men down at the other end of the level. Too far away to have seen the little false alarm, but still a bit too close for comfort.

"We grab stakes from the back," Dean replied as he headed back to the car, Sam following.

Dean appeared to be completely in control as he put the crossbows back and removed the two stakes-which looked rather pathetic compared to the weapons they now replaced. But Dean was actually quite off-kilter, though not as much as when he'd hit Scott. _After he was chased into the road_, he mentally reminded. They'd made a pretty big error with the DeSoto. They should've realized that the car had been following them…but they'd been bickering, hadn't they? Dean made a quick mental note that he and Sam had to stop arguing tonight. There was too much was on the line to risk it.

The other blaring error had been assuming Scott Meeson was perfectly safe in the hospital…the _public_ hospital. The vamp wouldn't need an invite to get in. He could stroll in at his leisure. Stroll in to a buffet of helpless patients, just waiting to be fed on.

* * *

well, that's it for that chapter. if you're not too pleased, I totally understand. This is one of those 'I hated writing it, but it's kind of necessary' chapters. Better stuff coming up though, I promise. 


	8. Chapter 8

a/n: I'm BACK! sorry guys, I was banned from the internet for a couple days. BUT-I am back with a new chapter!

Once again, hugs and kisses to my reviewers!

yes! Over 20,000 words! w00t!

Chapter Eight: Scott Meeson

The tired hunters ran full-speed all the way back down the 7 levels of the parking lot, across the street, back into the hospital, only slowing to a quick walk when they were around people who might ask where the fire was. Dean let out a sigh of relief when he saw the waiting room. No bodies, no blood-that appeared to have been spilled by their vampire anyway. Everything looked pretty normal. He and Sam remained alert, closely surveying their surroundings. No sign of foul play or the vampire. Each was gripping the stake he'd hidden in his coat pocket. Dean had slipped his pistol into his jeans' waistband. He knew it wouldn't kill the vampire, but he hoped it would at least act as a deterrent.

Sam shot Dean a questioning look when no baddies showed up after they had discreetly swept the first floor. Had they been wrong about the DeSoto?

Dean only moved his head to the side and back again in answer. No. No way. He glanced around once more then said, "Scott's room. That's where he's headed."

"I don't want to make any mistakes, Dean," Sam said carefully, a slight bit of anxiety slipping into his tone. He had come up with the idea that Scott was the target, however he didn't want to spend the night in the hospital and find out the next day that someone else had turned up dead.

"I know," Dean said empathetically as they started for the elevator. He finished determinately, "We won't."

But as they stepped into the elevator-very happy to find themselves without any company-Dean was getting nervous. Their vamp was in the hospital, he was absolutely certain about it. He rubbed the rough texture of the pointed weapon in his pocket. He would've preferred the crossbows, especially for Sam. Stakes had to be used right up close, and even being within any seeing distance of a vampire was too close for comfort. Dean looked at his little brother's reflection in the elevator doors. Fighting the vamp with a stake made him nervous enough, but the Sammy factor increased it by tenfold.

"You've never fought a vamp before," Dean stated to Sam's reflection.

"No," Sam replied simply. He smiled. "But hey, never hurts to try something new, right?"

Dean faked a smile back. "Right." But that squirmy feeling in his gut that he hated, because it made him feel like a pussy, just wouldn't go away. "Well, uh, remember: they don't look so tough, but they'll surprise you. They're faster and stronger than you. But that doesn't mean they're _smarter_ than you."

Sam nodded. He was glad that his brother was offering advice, but he'd actually already known that piece of information. "Yeah."

Dean went on, wanting to give Sammy as much advice as he could before they reached the third floor. "And they can look like humans. Watch for that."

"I know, Dean."

"Right. And don't hold back, 'cause they won't. Vamps'll fight dirty." He shrugged a shoulder. "Vamps are more animal than demon really. Don't even know the difference between right and wrong."

"They're sociopaths," Sam said in agreement.

Dean turned and looked at Sam, a blank look on his face. "Uh…yeah. Right…"

Sam tried not to smile in slight amusement. Dean didn't know the word. "That means they don't know the difference between right and wrong," he explained, trying his best not to be condescending.

But apparently that didn't work, as Dean scowled, looking insulted. "I know what it means!" He lied with such strong conviction.

"Okay," Sam said, humoring him.

Dean opened his mouth to say some smartass retort, but didn't. He had to remember: no more bickering. He had to keep coaching Sam while he had the time. The elevator had already stopped. "When you go to stake the vamp, use a lot of force, 'cause-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted as the door opened.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, looking at him, trying to pretend that he wasn't being a bit of a mother hen.

Sam raised an eyebrow at him as they stepped out of the elevator. "You gonna tell me not to forget my lunchbox too?"

Dean smirked. He couldn't help but nag the kid. He was worried for his little brother whom he felt a practically holy duty to protect. "And you've got soccer practice at six tonight."

Sam chuckled, but he was at the same time a little uncomfortable. It wasn't like Dean to mother him like that. Poltergeists, demons…Dean usually trusted Sam to get rid of them. True, Sam had never gone up against a vampire before, but they had gone up against new evils before with little discussion about it. What was different about this hunt?

But Sam couldn't really dwell on those thoughts anymore. The brothers switched back into hunter mode, scanning the hallway. Nothing seemed unusual… No sight of a brunette in a big black coat. Just nurses that Dean was wishing he could stop and make 'appointments' with.

"Scott's room?" Sam asked expectantly.

"Let's go," Dean replied.

They headed down the corridor to Scott's room. Both were inwardly met with great relief when they neither saw nor heard Nikki Wales. They spotted the door down the hall, and it started to open. At the sight of a white coat, Dean and Sam wordlessly and simultaneously ducked into an intersecting hallway. Dr. Bridge was becoming more of an obstacle than an asset. The Winchesters had decided to avoid her whenever possible. Both pressed themselves up against the wall as they heard the doctor's quick steps coming closer. She paused at the intersection, and Dean bit his lip nervously. She was literally inches from him. One glance their way and… But fortunately, her beeper went off. The brothers watched silently as she passed, her gaze fixed on her beeper.

Dean poked his head out cautiously to watch her go. She was headed to the elevator, apparently headed to some emergency on the first floor. When the coast was clear, the brothers resumed walking to Scott Meeson's room.

Sam chose this moment to pause and ask Dean what he was so worried about. If there was something he had to know, Dean had better tell him before they went any further.

But Dean spoke first. "Okay, we can either hang around here, or go in. Probably be less conspicuous if we just stick around out here."

"Yeah," Sam said distractedly. "Uh, Dean, is there something…" He was trying to choose his words carefully. Like the older Winchester, the younger had realized that there could be no more irrelevant arguing. "Something you're not telling me?"

"'Bout what?" Dean asked blankly.

"We go up against new stuff all the time with no problem. Why're you so worried about me this time?"

"I'm not worried," Dean replied too quickly. But in response to Sam's 'yeah, right' look, he shrugged. "Look, it's like I said. Vamps are more animal than demon. Like animals, a vamp is unpredictable. They can catch you off guard. And plus, the fuckers are pretty hard to kill. And, unlike most demons, vamps won't just try to kill you…." He gave a sarcastically cheerful smile. "They'll make a tasty snack out of you too."

Sam gave half a nod in reply, Dean's answer acceptable. "All right, well… I think we should go in."

"You think?" Dean asked, wanting to keep a low profile. The two of them had already attracted enough attention.

"How do we know the vamp's not in there right now?"

"Ah. Good point."

They entered the room quietly, and it turned out to be wise that they had. The brothers had come in the middle of the police officers interviewing the now-awake Scott Meeson. Dean quietly signaled to Sam to duck behind the curtain of another bed in the room. Like Dr. Bridge, the cops were best avoided.

The plan was to just sit back and listen. Their vamp wasn't in the room, but it was still lucky that the brothers had entered when they had. The police could save them the trouble of questioning Scott.

"I thought Dr. Bridge said for you guys to come back later," Scott's slightly scratchy voice said quietly. He sounded like he really wished the police would leave him alone.

"We're sorry, Mr. Meeson," Officer Clark said, sounding rather insincere, "But we want to get to the bottom of this."

"I'm sure you do," Scott replied rather curtly.

"Mr. Meeson…" Now Mendez stepped in, trying to play the nice guy. It was probably an easy roll to play because he was closer to Scott's age. "We just want to know what happened, that's all."

There was a pause as Scott thought about whether to trust Mendez, but he gave in. "All right."

"Okay. Now, you said that you were walking home from the bar," Mendez prompted.

"Yeah," Scott replied, "I was pretty wasted." He seemed to have no problem admitting to that. In fact, he even sounded a little proud.

"You're blood alcohol level was point-one-five," Clark remarked in a rather accusing tone.

"Yeah, like I said, I was wasted," Scott replied in a shrug-off tone. In response to the look he was getting from Officer Clark, Scott's brow furrowed in irritation. "What? I was _walking_ home, not _driving_. Can't a guy get hammered now and then without people jumping down his throat?"

"What happened while you were walking home?" Mendez asked, cutting Clark off from continuing the argument.

"I…" Scott hesitated, but covered it up by pretending to clear his throat, "I guess I just wandered into the street. All I remember are these bright lights comin' at me… Guess that's when those assholes hit me."

Sam looked over at Dean, who looked like he was really fighting to keep quiet.

"But hey, the doc told me that those guys saved me, so, whatever."

" 'Whatever'?" Dean quoted under his breath incredulously, " 'Whatever'? Maybe we should've just left you bleeding in the street, you ass. Bet it wouldn't have been 'whatever' then!"

Sam nudged him non-too gently in the ribs to shut up.

The officers meanwhile exchanged a look. Scott had skipped a part of his story, and that was sending up a red flag.

"Mr. Meeson," Mendez said, Clark letting his younger partner take the lead, "Did anything happen between you walking home and you getting hit by the car?"

"No." The response came just too quick and with too much force behind it.

"But, Mr. Meeson, what about-"

"My name is Scott, all right?" the young man snapped irritably, "Scott. Not 'Mr. Meeson'; that's my _father_."

Sam raised an interested eyebrow at the tone Scott used when referring to his father. It didn't sound like Scott was at all appreciative of any association to the man. _Well, he's not the only one with parental issues_, Sam thought to himself rather darkly.

Mendez seemed rather thrown off by Scott's remarks about what he was to be called, so Clark moved in to catch the ball. "You've noticed those injuries on your neck?"

"Kinda hard not to," Scott shot back.

Clark smiled tightly. Kid had a point. "Where do you think they came from?"

"Gee, I dunno," Scott retorted sarcastically, "Could it possibly have anything to do with the fact that I was _hit by a car_?"

Now Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Sam's was more questioning, and Dean just shook his head in response. There had been no mistake. Scott had definitely been bleeding _before_ he was hit. And Dean knew that there was no way Scott had just conveniently 'forgotten' about it. Being bitten in the neck isn't something you forget. So much for letting the cops do all the questioning…

Clark let out a breath in defeat. "All right, Scotty-"

Suddenly, Scott's face went from irritated to tense. He went very still, and his eyes got very wide before he became conscious of them and quickly lowered his gaze. "Don't call me that. Ever. No one calls me that." His voice sounded very serious, not just pissed. "No one except…" But then he stopped, having apparently said too much.

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Except for who, Scott?" he pressed.

Scott just shook his head-very slightly. He put a hand to his temple, feigning pain. "I think you guys should leave now. My head hurts." When the officers didn't start to move, Scott put down his trump card. "…It hurts so bad…maybe I'll call Dr. Bridge…"

That did the trick. Clark opened his mouth, but a look from Mendez shut it. "Right…well… We'll talk later, Scott."

"I'm already not looking forward to it," Scott replied openly as the officers turned to leave.

Dean looked over at Sam. "I think I like this dude," he whispered.

Sam smirked. Scott's parting words to the cops had been very Deanish in both the language and tone.

The officers passed, passing the brothers without even noticing it. When they were gone, Sam and Dean stepped out from behind the curtain. Sam thought to himself how damn lucky he and Dean were that neither the officers nor Dr. Bridge happened to look their way.

Scott was lying back on his bed, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths, apparently trying to calm down. For the first time, Dean was really looking at the man he'd injured. Scott was still a little pale, but he was looking better. He looked a little thin, just slightly malnourished. The close-cropped brown hair made him look even thinner. Dean was a little impressed that the young man could pull off sounding like such a bad ass, when he looked more similar to a cancer patient.

When they approached him, Scott suddenly opened his eyes, aware that he was no longer alone. "Who're you?" he asked, suspicion breaking through his tired voice.

"The assholes," Dean replied without missing a beat.

"Sam and Dean Winchester," Sam introduced in a more traditional fashion. Then, as an afterthought, added, "We're brothers."

Scott sat up slightly. "Wait…you're the guys that hit me?" He sounded somewhere between pissed and frightened.

"Uh, yeah…" Sam said, trying to appear very non-threatening. "Sorry about that, man." _Okay, how lame was that_? Sam thought to himself.

"Not as much as I am," Scott retorted.

Dean and Sam exchanged an exasperated look. How many bitchy people were they going to have to deal with tonight?

"Look, dude," Dean tried, "It was an accident. Sorry."

Scott opened his mouth like he was going to say another retort, but then he stopped, wincing at the pain coming from his ribs. He leaned back on his pillows, crossing his casted arm over his stomach. "Look," he said, sounding tired again, "I'm not gonna sue you guys or anything. You've got nothing to worry about from me."

Dean and Sam were rather taken aback by the comment. They hadn't even considered any more legal ramifications of the accident than being thrown in jail. "No, dude," Dean said sincerely, "We seriously just wanted to know if you were all right."

Scott didn't seem to believe him, but he didn't say so. "Yeah, well, I figure, you almost killed me, then saved me, so it all works out right?" He added, more to himself than to the brothers, "Besides, I got bigger stuff to worry about than you."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. "Like what?" Dean asked, trying to sound casual.

Now Scott's anger became more apparent. "Like none of your damn business," Scott shot back, glaring at Dean.

Dean stared him down. Scott just wasn't intimidating enough as he lay there in that hospital gown, his neck bound in medical tape and gauze, his arm in a tan cast. "Like where you got those holes in your neck?"

Scott suddenly became very rigid, his face becoming similar to the way it had been when Officer Clark had called him 'Scotty'. "That happened when you hit me with your car, you son of a bitch," Scott said, his voice drenched in venom.

Dean rolled his shoulders back in an 'oh yeah?' motion, but Sam intervened.

"Look, Scott, we know you got that injury from somewhere else," Sam stated. He paused a moment for the information to sink in before he continued as he sat in a chair, "And if you just talk with us, tell us what really happened, it'll all end well."

Scott shook his head, looking very skeptical. Dean decided to go with Sam's approach. "Look, dude, I'll tell you this much: me and Sam, we're the only ones who'll listen to the truth. I've bet you've got a pretty crazy story, right? Don't think anyone will believe you? Well if anyone will, it's us."

Scott seemed hesitant to take Dean's word for it. "Why should I trust you? And why do you even give a shit?"

"It's what we do," Sam explained. "We help people with things they can't explain."

"Things like what?" Scott asked, raising an eyebrow.

"All kinds of things," Sam said, avoiding a real answer, "And right now, it's whatever attacked you."

Now Scott looked very mistrusting. "How do you know I was attacked?"

"Because your buddy thought it'd be fun to smash me into the pavement," Dean replied, pointing to his bruises.

Scott sat up, his eyes wide. "He attacked you too? I…" But then he stopped, looking to he ground again.

Sam knew that Scott was definitely hiding something, but he decided to ease into the subject. Scott had been through a lot, and the brothers were very lucky that they'd gotten through to him. "Scott, while you were out, you said a name." Scott looked back to him, a shade of nervousness cast over his features. "Who is Julian?"

Scott hesitated to answer, looking away.

"Come on, Scott," Dean pressed, "Just tell us. We can help you out, man."

Scott finally gave in, taking in a deep breath. "Julian…is my brother." The Winchesters raised their eyes in surprise. But, the name Julian could've been referring to anyone really. It was what Scott said next after taking another deep breath that really shocked Sam and Dean. "And he's the one that gave me _this_," the young man said, referring to the injury on his neck. "He bit me. He fucking _bit_ me!" he said, sounding like he still didn't quite believe it.

While this information set in with the Winchesters, Scott laid his head back and closed his eyes. At first, he'd been struggling to keep going. Now he just let it all pour out to two complete strangers. "We grew up together, you know? Right around here, actually, in some shit hole neighborhood. Our parents liked the drinks. They'd hit the bottle together just about every night…"

_The drunken couple, Mr. and Mrs. Meeson, stumbled down the rundown hallway of their house together, stumbling and laughing, each with a bottle of beer in hand._

_They passed a white door, the whitewash paint starting to chip off. Beneath the crack of the door, their shadows passed. In the room were the two young Meeson boys with short light brown hair, each sitting on his own ratty bed, as they watched the shadows pass and the sounds of their drunken parents going into their own bedroom._

"Sometimes they'd just go to bed, have a hangover the next day, then start all over the next night. But then there were the other times…"

_Young Scott fell back as his mother pushed him away. Both of his parents towered over him. They did that sometimes; teaming up on one of their boys. The father raised his hand to strike Scott, but then the insignificantly older Julian stepped in the way. The father paused momentarily, but went through with the hit anyway, backhanding Julian rather than Scott._

"All me and Julian had was each other."

_Little Scott and Julian were in their room, nursing their wounds. Scott had started to cry. Julian leapt to his brother's side, comforting him._

In the present, Scott smiled slightly at the memory. "Julian…he used to say that. Told me that were all that mattered. We were brothers, blood." Scott's face fell suddenly. "But…but then Julian got older. And he got meaner."

_In another memory, Scott was walking home from school, his Goodwill backpack slung over his shoulder. As he passed an alley, something caught his attention. He looked down the alley and froze, his eye widening. He saw Julian in the alley with some other thugs, beating the shit out of some kid. As kid curled up into a ball in fear, Julian stood up to his full height, towering over his victim. _

_But as his friends praised him, something made Julian look out the alley. There he saw Scott, watching. Smiling in a chillingly brotherly way, Julian waved Scott over in welcome. Scott slowly shook his head, then took off._

"He'd get into trouble with the cops…"

_Mr. Meeson, dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, opened his door to reveal a uniformed police officer, his arm clapped firmly on the scowling Julian's shoulder. Julian's hair was long now and he was wearing the same black coat he has today._

_As the officer told Mr. Meeson what had happened, Julian fixed his eyes on something behind his father. It was Scott, who was now about 14. Scott just stared at Julian, anger in his eyes. Julian stared back, a smile playing on his lips._

"Until one day, they finally just took him away. Went to juvie for two years. By then…" Scott shook his head. "I was glad to see him go. I just got sick of him.

"Well, when Julian turned eighteen, they cut him loose. He came home, and he hadn't changed at all. But I had. Two years without Julian around had done me a lot of good. I was sixteen, so I had a part-time job. Was getting okay grades too." Scott sneered at the memory. "But did Julian care? Nah. He wanted me to be more like him. Guess he figured if we became more different, we'd grow further apart too." Scott shrugged. "Guess he was right. One night, we got into this huge fight. Said some pretty shitty things to each other. Even threw a couple punches at each other. It was Julian who left. Just walked out the door and didn't come back.

"He was eighteen by then," Scott took a deep breath, "So, they didn't try very hard to find him. It was mom that called the cops to look for him in the first place." Scott raised his head, set in the feelings he had felt toward his brother. "I never cared. I was glad he was gone, and soon I just stopped thinking about him altogether."

Sam listened intently to Scott's story. He didn't interrupt with questions, he just let Scott tell all. Sam had found in his experience that sometimes it was better for the victim to first tell as much as they chose. Sam was also interested in Scott's story. How had Julian gotten to the point where he'd come to bite his own brother in the neck?

Dean was starting to wish that Meeson would hurry up. He was glad that he and Sam had gotten Scott to open up, but that didn't mean that he wanted to hear the kid's life story. Oh well. At least they knew for sure that Scott wasn't being sucked dry by the vampire-er, his brother… Unlike Sam, Dean didn't dwell on why Julian had bitten Scott. It was rather simple: Julian was a vampire and he just didn't know any better. Plus, he was probably still pissed about that fight. Dean had seen many horrible things, and most of them had revealed how twisted and primal human beings were. This was just another day at the office.

"So I went off to the local college after spending a year just wandering around," Scott went on, "Took my classes. And then, tonight…" Scott hesitated, but forced himself to go on. "I'm in my apartment, and there's a knock at the door…"

_Scott, dressed in jeans and his Black Sabbath t-shirt, gets up from his kitchen table to answer the door. He opens it, and his eyes grow wide as he sees who is there._

"It was Julian."

_Julian stood there in his black coat, smiling coolly at his brother. _

Scott sank back against the pillows. "I hadn't seen him, hadn't heard anything from him in eight years." He shook his head slightly, in disbelief. "He looked exactly the same. Like he did the night he took off. I mean, it was kinda weird… He should be twenty six by now, but he looks like he's even younger than _me_."

Dean was suddenly paying full attention to Scott. Vampires didn't age past the age when they had been turned into vampires. It seemed that Julian had been turned recently after he left home.

When Scott didn't keep going, Sam gently prompted, "Did he ask if he could come in?"

Scott gave Sam an odd look. "Yeah, actually… He kept asking if he could come in."

"Did you let him in?" Dean asked concernedly. If Julian already had an invite into Scott's apartment, that could complicate things.

"No," Scott replied, "I told him he wasn't welcome. He seemed kinda pissed about that, but he didn't come in. He said he missed me." Scott gave a mirthless laugh. "I knew that was bullshit. I told him so. I asked him how he'd found me, he said he had 'connections' and whatever. I said that if he wanted money from me, he wasn't getting it. Then he goes 'No, I just wanted to talk to you. Let me come in.' And I tell him no way, _again_. Then he says we should go out together, hang out. I thought he was joking. He says no, he really thinks we should. Then he starts talking about the old days…" Scott bit his lip. "Talked about how we were blood. Julian said he wanted us to go back to the old days…" Scott looked down and swallowed. "…when we were _friends_."

Scott stopped again. The Winchesters let him regain some control. Sam opened his mouth to prompt Scott again, but he didn't to. Scott raised his head, showing renewed strength. "Sorry, I don't remember much after that," Scott admitted truthfully, smiling in spite of himself.

"Well, that's what happens when you get bumped on the head," Dean joked generously.

Scott smiled tightly back. Sam could see that Scott had a lot of strength and he felt that he had to keep showing it, especially when he talked about Julian. Scott seemed to be forcing himself to either not care about or hate Julian.

"What can you remember?" Sam asked quietly.

"Uh…well, after what Julian said, I just gave up. I grabbed my coat and went with him. He seemed really happy that I was going with him." Scott grimaced at the last sentence, but kept going. "We got in Julian's car…"

Dean's ears perked up. "A black DeSoto?"

"Yeah…" Scott was starting to get a little freaked about how these two guys kept finishing his sentences.

"Son of a bitch…" Dean said. He _had_ been right about that car.

"What?" Scott asked, not understanding the meaning behind the comment.

"Where'd you guys go?" Sam asked, keeping the discussion focused on Scott's story. He also didn't want to worry him by telling him that Julian was probably in the building looking for him. Or the Winchesters. Or both.

"This club," Scott replied.

"What was the name of it?" Dean asked. The name of the club would give them somewhere to go looking for Julian if they had to.

"Nosferatu."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You're kidding."

Scott raised an eyebrow back. "Would you forget a name like that?"

Dean looked to Sam. "How more obvious can they get?"

"'They'?" Scott quoted questioningly.

"What happened in the club, Scott?" Sam asked, once again covering for Dean.

"Well…" Scott shook his head. "I don't remember much after that. I remember I had to wear this weird necklace to get in. Something about not being a member. Anyway, in the club there were a lot of red lights. Julian took me over to this back area. I thought it was to do acid and shit like that, and I told Julian I wasn't into it. But Julian says no, it's just a place for privacy. I didn't really believe him, but I went along with him anyway.

"So we're in the back room and there's no drugs. But there's plenty of drinks." A smile played on Scott's lips at the memory. "Some girls, but I was more focused on the drinks. Julian keeps calling for more, I keep putting him down."

Dean saw where the story was going. Julian had taken Scott into the back room for privacy to bite him. He'd also probably had been drinking very little. He had purposely gotten Scott drunk as sort of a pre-bite anesthesia. But why would he bother if he was planning on killing Scott? Suddenly, Dean had an epiphany. He knew why Julian was stalking Scott.

"Well, I remember Julian taking the necklace off," Scott went on. He took a deep breath. "And this is where it gets kinda…kinda 'Tales from the Crypt'. I look over at Julian and…"

_Scott sat in a room with his brother, the room completely red because of the colored lights that illuminated it. Scott downed another shot of Jack Daniel and looked over at Julian, his face showing how hammered he was. His alcohol-induced expression of easygoingness vanished when he saw Julian's eyes glowing a brilliant green, even under the red lights. Scott shook his head, thinking that he'd had one too many. _

_Julian reached over and grabbed Scott's shoulder, pulling him close, as if for a brotherly embrace. Scott was too scared and confused to resist; he just went rigid as Julian's canines grew into fangs. With a deep breath, Julian bit down into his brother's neck. Scott cried out in pain as rich red blood starts to flow from the bite.. _

"How'd you end up outside?" Sam asked curiously.

Scott looked at him strangely, then at Dean strangely. "Uh…you guys don't think that whole part is kinda…you know, _weird_?"

Dean shrugged. "Nah. Not really."

Scott stared at him, then shook his head. "Quit shining me on. Just say it: 'Scott, you're a Looney tune'."

"Okay," Dean said, "Scott, you're a Looney tune." Scott looked up at him in surprise and offense, despite Dean had only done as he'd asked. "But, what you saw wasn't the drinks or your head. It was real."

Scott looked from Dean to Sam, who nodded in agreement. "It's true. It's real."

Scott seemed to no longer think that he was crazy, but seemed positive that Dean and Sam were. "Uh-huh… Right…"

"So how'd you get outside?"

Scott raised and lowered his shoulder, his mind still reeling from the fact that he'd just been told that he wasn't crazy. "I just ran, I guess. I ran out of the club… Then…" He shot a look at the brothers. "And then the bright lights came and you assholes hit me with your car."

"And then we saved your life," Dean finished, slightly irritated. "Get over it. Life sucks, get a helmet."

Scott sat up, his jaw clenched. "Oh yeah? Well, you can shove that little piece of advice right up your-"

Sam stood up then, cutting Scott off, "Okay, I think it's time we got going."

"Yeah," Dean said, looking at Scott, "Got stuff to do."

"Like what?" Scott asked as the brothers turned and headed for the door.

"Like stuff," Dean replied quickly as he hurried out the door. He had chosen to quiet his anger before he blurted out 'Like go ram a piece of oak through your bastard brother's chest!' Dean could tell that Scott still cared about his brother, despite what had happened. It wasn't just his insecurities about his sanity that had kept him from mentioning Julian to the police.

"Hey," Scott called to Sam.

"Yeah?" Sam turned back to him, halfway out the door already.

"Look, um," Scott looked down. "You and your brother…watch out for each other, all right?"

Sam gave a small appreciative smile. "Will do."


	9. Chapter 9

OMG, I've finally made it back! So sorry to have kept you all waiting! This has literally been typed up for a week, and I was just too damn lazy to put it up.

* * *

Chapter Nine: Brothers

_"You're not going." _

_Dean's face was resolute, his voice ever dominating. But Sam knew how to stare him down, just as he did now. _

_"That's not up to you," he stated simply. He was adamant about remaining calm. Make Dean look like the jerk. Sam had his arms crossed loosely and was leaning against the kitchen counter. Dean stood across the room, though his angry presence seemed to fill the whole kitchen. _

_"The hell it's not," Dean spat. "This isn't just _your_ decision." Sam swallowed and looked away. He knew what was coming next. "Does Dad know about this?" the expected question came accusingly. Dean knew damn well that if Sam had given their father one iota of a clue as to what he was planning, he wouldn't have had the guts to keep thinking about college, let alone tell Dean about it. _

_Sam just shook his head. He hadn't even really needed to respond. He hoped that Dean knew that there was a reason why he'd been told first. Because Sam always went to Dean first. Because, to Sam, Dean was always first in priority over anything. _

_"We stayed in the same place for four years, all for you," Dean continued accusingly._

_"We still go on hunts," Sam defended, "We still save people!" He didn't believe that staying in the same spot had inhibited their fight against evil that much. _

_Dean's eyes narrowed, as if he wondered if his brother was really so naïve. "Sam, this isn't just about saving people," he voice was quiet, but the tone passionate, "If we'd kept moving around, we'd probably be closer to the thing that killed Mom."_

_Now it was Sam's eyes that narrowed. "That's bull," he growled, "Stop quoting Dad and think for yourself." He knew better and Dean knew better. It didn't matter if they'd moved around or not. They both knew that the monster that had killed Mom was as easy to find as a needle in a haystack. _

_Dean straightened his shoulders threateningly at Sam's remark. Sam didn't often talk about Dean's loyalty to their father. Dean didn't appreciate the negativity Sam associated with it. "You mean just think about myself and no one else, like you?" he snapped angrily. Sam was selfish. He was selfish for making them stay here, and even more so to even think about going to college._

_"I'm trying to become educated! Is that such a bad thing?" Sam asked loudly. Those were words that he had been meaning to say for five years. He didn't understand why it was wrong to enjoy reading and learning other things that didn't have to do with poltergeists and zombies._

_"If you think it comes before hunting, than yeah!" Dean shouted back. Why couldn't Sam get it? Why did he refuse to do what was right? He seemed to not even have a concept of what it was._

_Sam sighed and leaned back on the counter, putting a hand to his temple. He'd known that this would be difficult. Hence the reason he'd chosen to talk to Dean when Dad was away. Talking to both of them would have been impossible. And talking to Dad after Dean wasn't going to be nearly as bad. Though Sam loved their father, that didn't really mean that he had to _like_ their father. Dean was different. Sam loved, liked, even idolized his brother. _

_"Look," he said quietly, trying to eliminate all anger from his voice. Maybe if he backed down a little, Dean would too. "I'm not…" But he couldn't finish it. Memories, their past emotions, and the current situation, was making him a little emotional. _

_"Not what?" Dean snapped._

_"I'm not like you and Dad, all right?" Sam finished, swallowing the lump in his throat. What he was saying was painful for both him and Dean, but it was true._

_Dean wouldn't let the hurt show, however. He'd learned from their father to replace hurt with anger. "Well, seeing as how neither of us are spoiled bastards, I'd have to agree with you."_

_Sam ignored that remark. "What I mean is that…" Damn it, how could he say this? "…this isn't enough for me." As soon as he'd said it, Sam knew that those had been the wrong words to use._

_"Saving lives isn't enough for you." Dean said, rage seething in his voice. What the fuck was wrong with his brother? _

_Sam sighed, looking over at his brother. He knew how angry Dean was, and translated that into how hurt Dean was. He remained calm as he could, trying to explain to his brother how he felt. How he'd felt for the past five years, unable to tell anyone. "You said it yourself. This…it's not just about saving people."_

_Dean jerked back suddenly, wide-eyed, like Sam had hit him. Sam couldn't be saying what Dean thought he was saying. If he was, than he was far worse than Dean had thought. But the look on Sam's face told Dean the horrible truth. Now Dean really was furious. He strode across the room in five steps and was soon within fighting distance from Sam. "Mom's not enough?" he yelled, "You selfish bastard!" _

_Sam steadied himself slightly. He and Dean had argued, he and Dean had tussled. But this was quickly escalating to what could be an all-out real fight. He was willing to accept that. But he wanted to explain. He had to at least try to get Dean to understand, or at least hear the full story. But he was angry that Dean was so quickly willing to jump to a fight. "I'm not the only one who's selfish here," he said coldly._

_"Not from where I'm standing," Dean retorted._

_"Look Dean, if this really was some crusade about good versus evil, maybe I'd be more accepting of it. But it's not. This is about revenge."  
"And what? Your mother being nailed to the ceiling and set on fire just doesn't seem worth it?" Dean yelled in his brother's face. But Sam saw his brother's eyes become a little glassy, and he knew his own were too. Though Sam had never known their mother and Dean had only been four when she'd died, her death was still an unbearably painful topic._

_"Of course it does! But it's been eighteen years, Dean," Sam said quietly._

_Dean just shook his head and looked away. Sam knew it was to hide the glassy eyes. "You just don't care do you?" he said in a quiet, disgusted tone, "Just given up."_

_"No, I do," Sam protested, only raising his voice a little, "But I've moved on, Dean. Maybe you should try…"_

_"No, you know what?" Dean cut him off, turning back, no longer giving a damn what his eyes betrayed. "Fuck you, Sam. You want to run away off to college from this life, fine. But you can't out run the truth. You can't just push aside the fact that our mother was murdered."_

_Sam was taken aback by this. "I'm not trying to…"_

_"Yes you are!" Dean interjected, pointing at accusing finger at him, "Because _normal _people don't exorcise demons or cast spells or shoot rock salt at ghosts, right? Well wake up and smell the fucking Starbucks, Sammy; we're not normal. And no matter how hard you try, you never will be." _

_The brothers just stared at each other for a minute. Sam couldn't believe how much of what Dean had said was true. Dean knew very well how right he was; he'd come to this conclusion on his own long ago. He knew what it was like to yearn to be like everyone else. But Sammy was going too far. He had to get it through his head the reality of life. No more coddling; Dean didn't care if he had to fucking beat it into his brother's head, Sam had to understand. _

_Sam refused to let Dean win this. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be normal. It wasn't as perverted as their father had made it seem. "Fine," he said venomously, "But that doesn't mean I have to be a mindless soldier like you."_

_Dean's eyes flashed with anger and his took a step forward. For a minute, Sam readied himself to be hit. But the moment was cut short at the sound of a cell phone ringing._

_Both brothers looked from Dean's ringing cell in his pocket to each other. No question about who was calling. Sam suddenly panicked. Dean would pick up and tell Dad. But when he looked desperately to his brother, Dean's face told him that he wouldn't tell._

_Dean took out the phone and answered it. "Yeah," he said, trying to sound as calm and as casual as he possibly could. He couldn't let Dad know that anything was wrong. Despite his protectiveness over Sammy, if dad asked, Dean would answer._

_"Dean," the familiar gruff voice came over._

_"Hey, Dad," Dean greeted, immediately switching into 'glad to hear from you, but wasn't that worried' voice._

_Sam sat back and listened intently to the one-sided conversation, the entire time locking eyes with Dean and begging him not to say anything._

_Dean continued talking, acting with his voice as best as he could. "Yeah, I'm still at the house actually. … No, everything's fine. I just fell asleep on the couch." He winced slightly at the berate that came biting back at him. But as he always did when their father was angry with him, he took it in stride. "Yes sir, I'm about to leave right now. … Okay, I'll let Sammy know." And so the conversation ended. He turned to Sam. The moment of panic and protection made it rather awkward to pick up where they'd left off. "Dad's on his way back," he explained, "I've got to get going."_

_Sam nodded understandingly. God, what had he done? After everything he'd said, and Dean was still watching out for him. "Look, Dean, I…"_

_"I know," Dean finished sincerely, but shortly. He didn't want to leave on the chick flick moment. He turned to go, hoping that they could just leave it at that._

_But alas, Sam couldn't just leave it at that. "When I go, that doesn't mean I'll stop hunting," he called after Dean._

_Dean stopped and looked back at Sam. He wasn't angry anymore, but he wasn't happy either. "_If_ you go."_

_Sam sighed. Okay, it wasn't over. "Dean…"_

_Dean waved him quiet. "Look, we'll talk after I get back _Together_, okay?" They had to talk about this like a family. Him, Sam, and Dad. _

_"Yeah, okay," Sam replied. _

_They waved good bye, and Dean was gone. Sam leaned against the wall, hating himself. He'd lied to Dean. The semester started in a week and Sam was going. He wasn't going to talk to Dean and John at once, it just wasn't happening. By the time Dean got back, Sam would have left._

_

* * *

_  
"I know why Julian's really after Scott," Dean announced when Sam closed the door to Scott's room, "He's not trying to kill him."

Sam's brow furrowed. "Then…what's he doing?"

Dean sighed heavily. "He's turning him."

Sam's brow remained furrowed. "Into a vampire?"

Dean nodded. "All makes sense. Vamps have a natural instinct to make groups for themselves; you know, 'be fruitful and multiply'. Only way a vamp can 'multiply' is turn people into vampires. And the family it had when it was a human is usually where they start. Probably the same thing with Julian, especially if he really wanted to make up with Scott."

"But if Scott's right and Julian looks exactly the same, that means he's had eight years to turn Scott," Sam pointed out, "Why now?"

"Vamps can be drifters now and then," Dean answered simply, "Whatever vamp turned Julian might've taken him along for the trip."

"Well, where's his maker now?"

"Could be anywhere. Vamps will turn someone, lead them around for a bit, then just ditch 'em."

"But how could Julian know how to turn a person? Could his maker have taught him?" Sam asked curiously.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe, but I doubt it. The other vampires wouldn't like it either way. You have to ask for permission to turn somebody, and they have a pretty elite membership process. And they can only turn so many people at a time. Because if they turned every human…"

"There wouldn't be any food," Sam finished.

"Right. But you want my guess," Dean set his jaw. "These murders? It's Julian experimenting."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You think?"

Dean nodded. "Let's say Julian moved into town just two months ago. He finds Scott, wants to turn him, but he doesn't know how. So he starts practicing, figuring it out. Kills every two weeks to make it look like he's just feeding so when the other vamps catch him, they'll go easy on him."

Sam nodded. "I guess he finally figured it out."

"Yeah. His whole plan was to turn Scott tonight. See, to be turned, the vamp has to drain you until you're almost dead. Then, you have to drink the vamp's own blood," Dean explained.

Sam looked at Dean curiously. "How do you know so much about vampires, Dean? Aren't they notorious for how little is known about them?"

Dean straightened. "Experience," he replied shortly.

But Sam caught the underlying tone in his brother's voice. It was accusatory. 'Experience' was undoubtedly code for 'I learned important things like this while you were away wasting your time learning dumb things like calculus instead of how to survive in the dark'. A painful assertion, but Sam let it go. They did not have time for this.

"So how do we stop it?" Sam asked.

"We keep Julian away from Scott, then dust him," Dean replied, "Simple."

Little did he know how cosmically mistaken he was.

"So, we'll stay here, wait for Julian to show up," Sam said decidedly.

"Yeah, guess so," Dean agreed as he took a bag of M&M's out of his pocket. In response to the look Sam gave him, Dean held the bag protectively closer to him. "Get your own."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean could be such a jerk sometimes… But he wouldn't say that out loud. No more fighting. "Maybe I will," he announced begrudgingly as he turned the corner towards the elevator. He didn't really want to have to go all the way down to the cafeteria for some M&M's, but he was hungry.

But as soon as he rounded the corner and looked up ahead, Sam froze at the sight that met him.

"Uh…Dean…"

As he popped some M&Ms into his mouth, Dean looked up concernedly at his brother. "What?"

"We won't have to wait that long for Julian," Sam deadpanned.

Dean quickly walked over to Sam, stuffing the bag of M&Ms into his pocket and reaching for his stake. He followed Sam's gaze and there he was. He had reverted into human form, but there was no mistaking the long auburn hair and long dark coat. Julian Meeson stood in the middle of the corridor, but his now blue eyes didn't see the Winchesters, because they were focused instead on Officer Clark and Officer Mendez, who were speaking with him.

Dean could only think of one word to sum up the situation: "Fuck."

* * *


End file.
